


Then Came You

by CaptainTarthister



Series: The Lannisters Are Coming [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Brienne gets drunk and wild, Drinking, F/M, Graduate School, Jaime enjoys drunk and wild Brienne, M/M, MeetCute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the love and smut, there was quite a lot of awkwardness. A series of events leading to the very fortunate meeting of Jaime and Brienne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

 

All characters by George RR Martin. I own nothing and know nothing. 

 

 

In the offices of Lannister, Stokeworth & Marbrand Creatives, the three men of the eponymous agency were in their small conference room. They had no idea how long they had been sitting there. Neckties had either been loosened or slipped off, jackets tossed on the table. One had taken off his shoes and was walking barefoot on the cold floor tiles.

After years of dreaming about opening their own shop, Jaime Lannister, Bronn Stokeworth and Addam Marbrand left their respective advertising agencies. Jaime, the more famous of the three, was creative director, while Bronn and Addam acquired, maintained and handled accounts. Save for an accountant and a secretary, LSM Creatives was still small, and far from the dream that the three men envisioned.

None of them will say it, although Jaime was well aware that he was the reason there wasn’t a lot of business going their way. His exit from Wildfyre Concepts was controversial at the very least. Great and famous as he was, the clients who gave him their word to follow him in his next endeavour had reneged. Worst, the plans Jaime had made for when they were with LSM were hijacked by Varys, Aerys Targaryen’s right hand man. Varys was known for employing a vast network of “little birds” and was fiercely loyal to Aerys. When Aerys got wind of Jaime’s plans, the man who built Wildfyre Concepts from the ground up hit him right back where it hurt. Their last confrontation in the red and black lobby of Wildfyre had filled the business news for weeks.

Advertising was a fickle business but loyalty was absolute. Aerys had not only stolen Jaime’s ideas, he had also gone on to label him as a no-talent ingrate, coasting by his famous family name and good looks. In a way he was. It was Aerys who took him in when Jaime walked away from the security of the Lannister empire, Aerys who pushed him towards excellence, Aerys who taught him everything he knew about advertising.

A month ago, Bronn and Addam had gotten word that Valyrian Beer was shopping for a new agency. The two men quickly sprang into action, just barely stopping short of stalking the company’s CEO, Brynden Rivers. LSM Creatives were one of the four agencies that would be presenting this week. If they secure the account, it would bill at fifteen million dragons. 

After almost a year of frying his brains on mom and pop shops, local appliance stores, Jaime was frustrated but these businesses kept LSM afloat. Now here was something he could sink his teeth into. The problem was, after almost a year of frying his brains on promoting Black Crone deals, there wasn’t much left between his ears, he was convinced. It didn’t help that Bronn and Addam, significantly stronger on accounts, had almost nothing to contribute except keep him company. 

“We’re presenting in three days,” Jaime said. “Three days and I have nothing.” 

“Let’s look at their numbers again and see if we get something this time,” Bronn suggested, turning his laptop towards Jaime. 

Jaime shook his head. “There’s nothing there we haven’t seen before. Caters to the 18-35 year old market, predominantly male.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All I can think of is putting some bimbo in a bikini and positioning the drink right on her crotch.” 

“Inappropriate but controversial,” Addam said. “That’s not exactly bad.” 

“It’s bad because we don’t want women’s groups and family councils boycotting us and the company. We need to get our name out there, really out there, but not by being misogynist asses.” 

“Controversy is promotion,” Bronn pushed. 

_ “No.” _

“Hey, rich boy. You may have put more money here than Marbrand and I combined but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a say.” 

“You have a say. Me too. I’m saying no.”

Suddenly Addam shot to his feet. Jaime raised his eyebrow while Bronn continued looking bored. 

“We’re not going to get any thinking sitting on our asses. I’d rather be fucked in the ass than sit around. Let’s get out of here.” And he reached for his jacket. 

“Where’re we going?” Bronn demanded but he was reaching for his shoes under the table. 

“We’ll go where the market is. Find out what they like. Lannister, get off your ass, pretty boy.” 

 

 

“Oh, come on, Brienne!”

_ “No!” _

“I swear to the Seven, you’re the only twenty-eight-year-old I know who has a fucking bedtime. At nine p.m.” 

“I like to be alert in class. Unlike some. . .dwarves I know.” 

“That doesn’t really crush me. What’s hurting me is you’re refusing to celebrate!” 

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Brienne Tarth turned around and glowered down at Jon Snow. 

Despite being in sneakers, Brienne was six-foot-three. She towered over nearly everyone she came across. She hated being way taller than women and a lot of men but over the years, she’d learned to use it to her advantage. Unfortunately, her five-foot-seven classmate, who had a childhood that was extreme, to put it mildly, wasn’t intimidated. Undeterred by her sour expression, Jon put an arm around her waist and they continued walking across the quad of King’s Landing University-Westeros. 

“Because I know you. When you got that email accepting your abstract, I would bet my porn stash that you got all red and then you went through the rest of your day like nothing happened.” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Like you don’t have your own. Renly has a huge  box of gay porn. It would blind the Maiden, I tell you.” 

“Ugh, that’s not something I want to know about anyone!” Brienne protested, a deep red flush quickly overtaking her pale face. 

She swatted him on the arm and stalked off. Jon rolled his eyes before running after her. You had to run to keep up with Brienne’s ground-eating strides. 

“You’re the program’s wunderkind, Tarth. Professors are lining up to be your thesis adviser rather than the other way around. Now let’s celebrate your brilliance by getting smashed.” 

Brienne continued walking, ignoring his struggle to keep up. “We have class at eight-thirty in the morning. Tomorrow.” 

“Okay, we won’t get that smashed. Please, Brienne? Renly’s been wanting to celebrate too, come on.” 

“Jon, our class tomorrow is with Tyrell.” 

“So?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Need I remind you how Professor Olenna Tyrell is?”

Jon snorted. “The fuck you’re worried about that old bat for?”

He could literally hear the wheels turning in her head as she considered what was responsible and reckless. 

“If I tell you that Renly’s paying, will you change your mind?” 

Brienne sighed loudly and this time rolled her eyes. She glared at Jon before climbing up the steps of the Oldtown Building. Jon, scenting imminent victory, grinned hugely. 

Instead of their usual class with Professor Catelyn Stark, they have been instructed to attend a lecture by Howland Reed, a famed scholar of literary theory, poetics, and memoir writing. Brienne took the print-out of today’s programme from the back of her jeans pocket, reading the information there. Her pace slowed down, allowing Jon to finally walk abreast her. 

The lecture hall was packed by the time they got there, that even Brienne, despite the advantage of her height, had trouble seeing if there would still be any seats left. 

“Brienne! Oy, Brienne! Over here!” It was Renly Baratheon, waving his arms from the middle row. 

People quickly turned and shifted to give way to Brienne and Jon. 

As the two focused on getting to their friend and the all-important seats he was holding, they didn’t notice the admiring and curious eyes drawn to them. One or two looked at Brienne with pity. 

Blond hair, blue eyes and smooth skin should equal a true beauty. This was not the case for Brienne Tarth. Her hair was more straw than blond, and turned white under the light. Limp and dry, she kept it short and swept back from her forehead. Her skin, clear and devoid of makeup, was pale. It quickly got red under the sun, got red when she was embarrassed, got red when she was angry, got red in the shower—pretty much red for the rest of the day. 

Hers was one of the plainest faces anyone saw. Her nose was a bit too long, and clearly had been broken at least once. Her lips were thick and her mouth too big, but no one would ever think she had a sexy pout. It was just thick and too big. 

She played varsity volleyball until college, when a knee injury forced her to bow out of the sport for good. Despite it being years since she’d trained actively, she remained fit with daily jogs, sit-ups and weight-lifting. The result was a broad, muscular body, with hardly any trace of femininity. It didn’t help that she favored a lot of shapeless tops and much preferred sneakers to pretty flats. 

Her one true beauty was her eyes. Big and round, their blue was the exact color of the sapphire waters of the Isle of Tarth, where she came from. Her eyes were expressive, quick to flash her emotions: darkening when angry, softening when she was comfortable, warm and twinkling when she was happy. Even Renly, who always bemoaned her clothes and could only sigh in frustration at her endless pile of shapeless shirts and bulky sweaters, had told her never to put any eye make-up, not even mascara. 

The one or two students who looked at Brienne with pity at being so unfortunate-looking thought that at least she had brains. The rest who followed her down through the lecture hall thought two things: that she was admirable and if something was going on between her and Jon Snow. Jon was too short but you never knew what kink guys were into. . . 

Jon high-fived and mock-punched some students as he followed Brienne. With his thick, curly dark hair that hung loose and unkempt, gray eyes and black beard, he was handsome and knew it. He was arrogant and truth be told, can be a bit of an ass but his charm was an endless pit. Despite goofing off outside class, it was known that he was a solid researcher and a hard worker. Everyone thought him a friend, and he was, there was nobody he didn’t know in their class, but they also knew that he was only close friends with Brienne and Renly Baratheon. 

Renly Baratheon made up the trio last. Heir to the Baratheon Vineyards, no one could figure out what a rich boy such as he was doing in graduate school, doing further studies in literature at that. He was also shorter than Brienne, but probably an inch or two taller than Jon. His hair was thick and dark, but cut short and trimmed every two weeks in a salon that charged three hundred dragons for a haircut. His eyes were a rich, dark brown, like chocolate. His nose was chiselled straight, his cheeks high and carved sharp, but just stopped short of being angular. His jaw was square and strong. Many a coed had sighed and cursed the Seven for making such a fine specimen of a man only to have him batting for the other team. 

Only Brienne and Jon knew that Renly’s going to graduate school was an act of defiance. It wasn’t fair that his brother Robert, the eldest and should be the heir of the vineyards, got to play lawyer with Jon Arryn, and his other brother, Stannis, who should be next in line for the vineyards, was shooting exotic places such as Asshai and Qarth for Essos Graphic, Renly had told them. A dutiful son, he did as expected and subjected himself to the misery of a business course in college. It had been quite a row with his father to allow him to go to graduate school and study literature. He requested for five years before taking over the business. The old man gave him three. 

Renly was on a warpath to fast-track his degree. He was a combination of his friends—a good researcher and could almost always be counted on to give a fresh, interesting, even controversial reading of a text. Like Brienne, his abstract had been accepted to a conference. Jon had been too busy pursuing a PhD student to bother submitting. 

“So, are we going out tonight?” Renly asked, stepping aside a bit to let his friends pass and take their seats. 

“She said yes,” Jon answered for Brienne. 

“I didn’t. I’m still thinking,” Brienne muttered. 

“Brienne, I swear, the Silent Sisters have more fun than you do,” Renly said as they all sat down and pulled out their laptops and notebooks. “Come on. We’ll have just one drink.” 

“One drink!” Brienne exclaimed while Jon laughed. "The fuck you are!"

“Yeah, I’d like to see you happy with one drink,” Jon told Renly, shaking his head. 

“Hey,” Renly said, looking affronted. “I can control myself when I want to.”

Brienne laughed. “That I’ll have to see.” 

Jon pounced like a direwolf on a prey. “That means we’re going out for drinks, then.” 

Renly grinned while Brienne hung her head, knowing she was fucked.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys of LSM Creatives go out to research their target market. Jon and Renly stage an intervention on Brienne's outfit.

All characters by George RR Martin. I own nothing and know nothing.

 

By nine-thirty that night, Jaime was beginning to roar under his breath. They left the office at six, discussing where men from eighteen to thirty-five years of age hung out. An easy question at first, until it slowly dawned, the longest on Bronn, that they were long past this age bracket and had no fucking idea what men who weren’t their age did anymore.  
Addam, the youngest at thirty-six, figured that men liked to go out for steak dinners after a hard day’s work. They drove to Wyman Manderly, a restaurant in the city of Westeros known for serving the thickest, juiciest, most succulent steaks, the secret only known by the chef who named his restaurant after himself. 

It was a restaurant where reservations took months, unless you were somebody. Jaime only had to stroll past the glass doors before the host was calling out a friendly greeting to him, and an offer to seat him and his guests promptly. He nodded and quirked a lazy, lopsided smile that he knew magnified his good looks even more. Behind him, Addam and Bronn chuckled to themselves.

Owning a famous last name and having one of the most recognizable faces around, too soon the entire restaurant was buzzing, along with glances that the diners thought were casual but actually went a second too long. The women, despite being with their dates, discreetly checked their hair and lipstick, straightened in their seats. Jaime saw them peering at him over their lashes that was matched with a close-lipped, almost-smile. It was a move meant to seduce, and as old as time. It was a look Jaime knew too well. He ignored them all but kept his face pleasant as he followed the seating hostess—who made sure to walk with an extra sway in her round hips. 

She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Thick, blonde hair swept to the side, blue eyes rimmed with makeup to emphasize their brilliance. Her dress was a little black number that was low in the back. Still, Jaime found the styled hair, makeup, the dress, calculated glance and measured swaying too much, even repulsive. Oh, it was an ego boost knowing women threw themselves at him but he’d rather pursue than be pursued. He liked mystery. Innocence, that was the better word for describing what he looked for in a woman. Yes, innocence. It was so rare these days he believed it a myth.

The three men took their seats and ordered their steaks. The meat was good, an explosion of juices and spices at every bite. The wine, a rich, Dornish burgundy, went well with it. As they ate and talked, they looked around and came to the same conclusion. Men from eighteen to thiry-five years old didn’t go out for steak dinners, not unless they were a Lannister or a Tyrell, or had money that could barely contained by a money clip. They would have left sooner for further research but Wyman Manderly went to them and engaged them in small talk. Addam drank Jaime’s unfinished glass of wine out of boredom. 

Bronn suggested they go to a sports bar and grill next. A football game between Westeros State University and King’s Landing University-Westeros had made the bar so packed it was close to bursting, in Jaime’s opinion. The three men were almost felled to their knees as they swept the door to the bar open, the air thick with scent, testosterone and one silver stag beer. 

Bronn took a deep sniff of his jacket then straightened up. “Come on, you cunts. We’re doing this.”

Mugs of beer were quickly thrust in their hands and they sipped it, the shouts and cheers from the crowd drowning out their thoughts as WSU scored while KLU’s quarterback was sprawled on the ground eating dirt. Jaime sipped his beer and winced. His eyes watered.

“How in Seven Hells can anyone drink this?” He asked, putting it away and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He’d spit but there was nowhere to do so. The bodies were packed that tight together. “Tastes like bathwater and feet.”

Addam went on drinking his beer. “It’s not so bad once you start drinking. And this is our target audience.”

“If I remember the brief right, Valyrian is a luxury beer. These idiots don’t know the difference between horse piss and vomit.”

“Gods, you rich boys are fucking cunts,” Bronn complained. He swigged the beer easily.

“He’s a lot richer than I am,” Addam argued.

“Still rich. Rich is rich.”

“We’re leaving,” Jaime declared, getting his wallet to take out some bills. He slapped them on the counter. “This is not our market and you,” he pointed at Bronn, “I like this suit and thanks to you, I won’t be able to wear it anymore. No amount of dry cleaning will get the stink out. You owe me, you balding fuck.”

“Balding?” Bronn said as they followed Jaime. “At least all my hair’s still black. Your beard’s gray and there’s three more on the back of your head. Guess I’ll be the pretty one in a few years.”

 

Brienne was relieved when Renly told her he just wanted them go to Ye Old Gods, a bar and restaurant that was popular among graduate students, law students, young faculty and other up-and-coming professionals. She was a regular at the bar, much like most of its clientele. This meant that no one would be looking at her, used as they were to her freakish height, androgynous face and masculine build, and she didn’t have to worry about having to look fancy and dressed-up.

She put on a black turtleneck sweater, well-used jeans and loafers. She was in another battle with her hair, determined to flatten it but several locks stubbornly stuck straight up so she looked like she’d rammed her fingers to an electric outlet, when a knock came to her door. Jon and Renly, she thought, groaning and looking at her watch. They were early. By three minutes.

She grabbed her purse and opened the door. “Hey, guys. Shall we?” she said, checking for her keys. 

Neither man moved. Frowning, she turned to look at them.

Renly looked aghast. “What are you wearing?”

“What are you talking about? I’m wearing jeans like you are.” Noticing Jon was shaking his head, she glared at him. “What’s your problem?”

“You look like a crow. A tall, blond crow but. . .geez, Brienne, is that what you’re going for? Because it doesn’t work.”

She crossed her arms. Renly was wearing a black leather bomber jacket that showed off his broad shoulders and trim waist. Underneath was a plain white t-shirt. His jeans were gray and aged, and judging from how it cleanly skimmed his lean thighs and long legs, were tailored to fit him. Gleaming wingtip oxfords finished his look.

Jon was wearing a gray sweater, but it fit close to his body rather than his usual baggy clothes. His jeans were black and ripped, and knowing him, they weren’t deliberately ripped but actually got worn and worn over the years. He had also foregone his usual trainers for Chelsea boots.

They looked casual but dressed well. Brienne looked at herself and could not understand what they found so wrong with it. 

Renly looked at his watch. “We have time but we don’t have all night. You can’t go out dressed like that, Brienne.”

“What in Seven Hells is the matter with my clothes?” Brienne demanded as Renly took her by the elbow and dragged her behind the wall towards her closet and bed. It was the only partition in the apartment, save for the bathroom. 

“I can’t even begin to tell you. I’m gay but even I know that I wouldn’t fuck you even when drunk.” He flicked his fingers at her sweater. Two bright pink spots bloomed on Brienne’s cheeks. “You know you look good if a gay man even considers fucking you as long as he’s drunk. Come on.”

Jon, following them, leaped onto Brienne’s bed. “He’s right. You have got to have something a lot better than that, Brienne.”

When it became clear that Brienne was resistant, the two men took it upon themselves to look into her closet. Though significantly smaller and less broader than their friend, they managed to block her red-faced attempts to stop them and planted her on the foot of the bed, their faces stern.

“We’re doing this for your own good,” Jon said. 

“Indulge us,” Renly pleaded.

“If you put me in a dress and heels I will end you,” Brienne vowed. Her blond brows were practically touching, her frown so deep and scrunching her forehead. 

Renly waved his hand away while Jon chuckled. 

It was hard finding clothes that were not black, loose, and just plain unflattering. Jon considered a pair of cowboy boots. Brienne protested but he pulled them out of the closet anyway. 

“We’re going to a pub not some damned hoedown,” Renly pointed out, frowning at the boots. 

“I know nothing,” Jon snapped. “But I’m trying. Ease up, rich boy.”

Twenty minutes later, clothes were spread on every inch of Brienne’s bed. The two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads, despite taking off their jackets at some point. They looked at each other and sighed. 

Brienne’s closet was dominated by black items, such that it was like wading through a world on a moonless night. What they had managed to scrounge up that were not black were still far too few but may be promising. 

Jon held out a green top to Brienne, gray eyes glinting and his smile stretched from ear to ear. 

Her blue eyes were icy swords while Renly sighed loudly.

“That’s my sports bra, Jon.”

“Oh. Well, I would consider fucking you if you showed up in this. You should think about wearing this to class.”

“This,” Renly held a long-sleeved, bronze top against Brienne. It was a halter-style, which gave Brienne the modesty so important to her. It was sleeveless, which in Renly’s opinion, showed off just the right amount of skin without sending their friend into a full blush.

“No. One of my father’s ex-girlfriends gave me that. So that I’ll try to be girly, she said. No. I can’t believe I still have that.” Brienne snatched it from him and tossed it on the floor.

“Well, why don’t you try this?” Jon pulled a top from the pile and showed it to them.

Renly crossed his arms and smiled. Brienne tilted her head and looked at it. 

 

With winter imminent, it was too cold out. Renly insisted they take a cab to Ye Old Gods. The three gratefully slipped in the car’s small but warm interior, laughing as Brienne tried to fit her legs comfortably. The driver, taking pity, adjusted the passenger seat. If she hadn’t spoken, he would think her a man, he thought. Although no man had eyes that pretty, he added to himself, seeing them sparkling like sapphires through the rear-view mirror. 

Jon was the first to leap onto the sidewalk when the cab pulled over in front of the bar. Renly and Brienne argued over the fare, with the former insisting it was chump change while the latter declaring it was the right thing to do to contribute. 

“Stop doing what’s right and just be an ass like Jon, just for tonight,” Renly told her as he handed fare to the driver, along with a tip.  
With its red-bricked exterior and garish, yellow and green light display, Ye Old Gods looked like a dark, dank place that was a guaranteed health hazard. One had to go inside to find that it was brightly-lit, for a bar, with dark, mahogany tables and chairs and a bar carved by hand from oak. The patrons were mostly, though not strictly, students of KLU and WSU, pursuing further studies. There were several dressed in dark and gray suits, obviously lawyers. There was splash of tweed from at least a couple of professors and other young professionals. 

Renly quickly found them a good table. A waitress approached them soon after with menus. Jon ordered pigeon stuffed with vegetables and spices, with double-baked fries on the side, Renly ordered a stag burger and cheese fries, Brienne grilled salmon and salad, with dressing served on the side. Renly ordered Valyrians for all of them but instructed the waitress to bring them a round of tequila shots after eating.

Jon slapped his palm on the table in approval while Brienne’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“Renly! We have an eight-thirty class tomorrow!”

“So?”

“Some of us in this table didn’t grow up mainlining alcohol!”

“Relax. You won’t get drunk if you pace yourself. Just drink a lot of water so you pee it out. You won’t get a hangover. Well, you will but not so bad you won’t make it to class. Trust me. I know this.”

“Stop thinking about school and have fun, come on,” Jon told her. He elbowed her on the ribs lightly and she glared at him.

“Why are you always telling me that? Just because my idea of fun doesn’t involve embarrassing myself doesn’t mean I don’t. It's not exactly a crime to act your age.”

Renly snorted. “Fun for you is a long weekend in the library. It surprises me that you haven’t gotten locked in there yet.”

“I don’t spend all my time in the library.”

“If it’s not the library, you’re punishing yourself running around,” Jon said.

“So what if I care about being healthy? It’s fun for me.”

"Fucking is way more fun." Jon grinned when Brienne's face reddened like a tomato, the flush spreading down her neck to her chest.

“Who the fuck orders fish on a celebratory dinner?” Renly asked, pretending to think over it seriously.

“Who the fuck orders his family sigil for dinner?” Brienne shot back.

“Why? People eat stags all the time. Why shouldn’t I? You think the Tullys don’t eat trout because it’s their sigil, or the Lannisters don’t eat lions?”

“It’s illegal to hunt lions Of course they don’t.”

“Fine they don’t.”

Brienne sighed. “Look, you two bastards told me we’re just going out for a drink. Swear to me we’ll only have one round.”

Jon nodded. “Okay.”

Renly shrugged. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Brienne look like after Jon and Renly intervened? Stay tuned.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne meet. . .sort of.

All characters by George RR Martin. I own nothing and know nothing.

 

 

Brienne threw her head back as she tossed the tequila down her throat.

“Fucking dragon’s breath,” she swore, her body shaking with giggles bubbling out of her.

Jon slammed his glass down the bar and called to the bartender, “My good man, hit us again!”

Renly cheered as the bartender tipped the tequila towards the shot glasses. “On the count of three,” he told his friends, “One, two, three!”

They snatched the glasses off the bar and brought it quickly to their lips. Jon, swallowing too quickly, choked and sputtered out the tequila, turning away from them as he coughed, his eyes watering. Renly grinned as he set his glass down, having had no incident. Brienne, her long throat tipped back, had to pinch her nose to swallow this time. Succeeding, she lowered her glass. Jon was still coughing and this made her laugh even harder.

“Pussy!” She exclaimed, clapping him too hard on the back.

Jon’s face was as red as hers. Renly demanded another round.

Brienne’s eyes brightened, watching tequila pour into her glass again How is it that she hardly drank? It was _such fun._ And the way she felt, _oohhh._ Her head felt crammed with clouds, or was it cotton candy? Her brain had been reduced to fuzz and it was such fun to be not thinking about school or the upcoming conference, or her dad back in Tarth, with another of his so-called discreet lovers.

She swigged the alcohol, drained the glass and this time demanded the bartender for the next round. Renly let out a whoop of approval while Jon kissed her on the cheek and said, “I knew there’s some hope in you yet, Tarth!”

Gods, tequila was so. . .freeing. She felt light as a feather, she felt that if she spread her arms she would actually fly. And gods it would be soo wonderful to fly, right? You never had to worry about gas or parking, she will never have to always adjust the seat to fit in a blasted teeny car—

“You are soo red,” Renly remarked, taking note of the deep flush that was on her face and neck.

Brienne startled her friends when she suddenly shot to her feet. For someone who hardly touched alcohol until tonight, she stood straight, tall and firm, minus the wobbliness one exhibited when tipsy.

“Anything wrong?” Jon asked, looking up at her.

A wide grin spread across Brienne’s face. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the light of the bar but damn, Jon thought, she was almost pretty.

“I want to fly!” Leaving a trail of giggles behind her, she took off.

Renly and Jon demanded another round. The bartender was pouring tequila into their glasses when they realized what had just happened. Jon shouted, Renly shot to his feet but it was too late. Wide-eyed, Jon could only grab his friend by the sleeve of his shirt, roughly turn him around and point to the crowd parting like the Narrow Sea as Brienne stepped between them.

Brienne who winked at them over her shoulder.

Brienne who then mounted up a table as if climbing up a step on stairs.

“The Seven fuck me,” Renly whispered, horrified.

 

 

 

Bronn put down his drink, looked at the crowd behind them and shrugged. “Are you telling me that these so-called intellectuals know luxury beer? Or even drink beer. All I see them shotgunning are tequilas and margaritas. Hardly anyone is drinking beer, any beer.”

“Shut up, Bronn,” Addam snapped. He had his phone out and was taking notes with it.

“Yeah, what made you think these people even drink beer?” Jaime asked Addam. “I would think they’d consider beer, any beer, too pedestrian. I don’t believe they’d touch the stuff.”

“You didn’t see the three customers who ordered Valyrians earlier? Three men. Two with dark hair, one blond.”

“No, I was too busy wondering what in Seven Hells we’re doing here.”

“I’m trying to save your ass here, pretty boy. The least you can do is help me observe. I mean look, look at that party.” Addam nodded at the crowd a few feet from them.

The crowd Addam was referring to had gathered around a table in the middle of the bar. Jaime turned around to see a blond head and a pair of broad shoulders high over them, high-fiving and hip-bumping anyone who happened to be close by before he raised his leg and climbed up the table in a single bound. Jaime raised his eyebrow, impressed.

Applause and cheers rose from the group as the blond man stood on the table. How tall was he? Jaime wondered. His head almost brushed the ceiling. Suddenly, the man turned, waving his arms. He wasn’t too far away but from where Jaime sat, he felt an internal whoosh go through him when round eyes as bright as sapphires collided with his green stare.

Jaime frowned while the man went on to rouse the crowd. His voice was clear and deep as it rang across the crowd.

 

 

“A bear there was, a bear, a bear!

All black and brown, and covered with hair!

Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair! The fair?

Said he, but I’m a bear! All black, and brown, and covered with hair---“

The man glared at the people around him. His face was a deep blush close to Lannister red. Yet, standing tall and with the light of the bar falling on him in shafts, Jaime thought he looked like a god. Otherworldly.

“Hey, you sing with me, fuckers!” Jaime’s ears perked up. Something was off with his voice.

Laughter rippled around the bar as the man continued leading them in The Bear and The Maiden Fair, an ancient, ribald song famous in Westeros.

Bronn and Addam startled Jaime by joining in. “What in Seven Hells are you doing?” He demanded.

Bronn slapped him on the shoulder. “Lighten up, pretty boy,” and went on singing.

“Oh come they said, oh come to the fair!

The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!

All black and brown, and covered with hair!

And down the road from here to there.”

 

For some reason, the man started giggling, his shoulders shaking. Jaime thought he was having a seizure.

Suddenly, somebody broke away from the crowd. A young man with long, curly black hair raced to the piano at the corner of the bar and started hitting the keys.

“Everybody, sing!” He commanded while the blond man, for some reason, started dancing.

 

“Three boys, a goat and a dancing bear!

They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!

The fair! The fair! Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair!

The maid with honey in her hair! Her hair! Her hair!

The maid with honey in her hair!

The bear smelled the scent on the summer air.

The bear! The bear!

All black and brown and covered with hair!”

 

The blond punctuated the last two lines of the song with a series of high kicks in the air that Jaime was sure touched the ceiling. As the crowd continued singing, he added twirls as well as sharp but graceful motions of his arms arcing through the air.

But it was those long legs that seemed to kick higher and higher that kept Jaime’s eyes on him. Jaime took in the the messy blond hair cropped short, revealing a long, graceful neck sheened with sweat and flushed pink. His blue eyes seemed to grown brighter and larger as the song progressed. He kicked again, and Jaime couldn’t help but notice how the back pants fluttered back, revealing a delicate ankle. Now he wasn’t into feet nor ankles, certainly not men’s but _holy fuck—_

Jaime, who couldn’t remember the last time he blushed, felt a tidal wave of heat slam him right in the face and down to his chest as he realized what that all-too familiar twitching in his pants meant.

“That’s a Stormlands jig, if I’m not mistaken,” Bronn’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Jaime, pretending to cough, turned back towards the bar and willed his cock to stop acting weird. _You've been without a woman too long._

Addam looked doubtful. “How would you know?”

“Because I took an elective on Westerosi dances in college,” Bronn shrugged. “I wanted to meet chicks. I wasn’t disappointed.”

 

“Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!

I'll never dance with a hairy bear!

A bear! A bear!

I'll never dance with a hairy bear!”

 

Jaime whipped his head back to the crowd. They weren’t singing now, just the blond still kicking and laughing on the table.

He squinted. The navy shirt the blond wore was rolled at the elbows and tucked in the pants, pretty much how men wore them except they didn’t do it with a sparkly belt. And certainly didn’t unbutton it all the way down like that. He leaned forward, squinting harder before he saw it, the black lace of a bra.

_“Is that a woman?_ ” Jaime breathed.

“Yeah, you can’t tell right away. Deep voice too but looks like,” Addam said. So he didn’t know right away either, Jaime thought,relieved. 

He glanced down at his pants, willing his erection to go away. If anything, his cock pushed harder against the confines of the fabric. Gritting his teeth, he positioned his glass of scotch on the rocks close to his crotch. 

The woman must have signaled the crowd to continue with the song while she resumed dancing. Addam and Bronn continued singing too, cheering and applauding along with the crowd as the woman started engaging in a series of twirls so quick even Jaime felt his eyes cross.

Rubbing them, he took a hard pull of his scotch, turned to the bar and tapped it, signalling the bartender for a refill. A quick slosh, followed by the clunk of ice. Jaime pressed his drink to his crotch this time, glad he was wearing black pants.

By the time he turned back to the impromptu performance, the crowd had reached fever pitch. There were still many singing, and also many calling out something. Bren, Bran, Jaime shook his head, unable to make it out clearly, the noise was reverberating through the walls, the man playing the piano seemed to pound the keys right on his ears. 

All Jaime could do was watch the spectacle of the blond with insanely long legs pushing the crowd to finish the song so she could give them a night they’ll never forget, so that she could fly away. 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but she took the biggest hit, he could tell, watching her twirling again, her head and shoulders rocking with such violence he worried she’d snap herself in two and he found himself getting to his feet, his drink falling from his hand to crash and shatter into pieces on the floor, ignored and unheard. 

Why he stood up, why he thought to go to her when she was no one, he didn’t know. He wouldn’t know for a while. All he knew was he had to go to her, and he would have, he would have gone to her and caught her in his arms when she did a kick so awesome it was the equivalent of a sword thrusting surely and gracefully in the air. But her shoe flew off, a delicate-looking black thing from a distance but a weapon sure to inflict pain the closer it approached, revealing its size, the buckles near the tip of the toe. 

Jaime tensed, bracing himself for the inevitable blow and he wondered why he didn’t move, his reflexes were good, _why didn’t he move?_ Maybe because of the shock that blasted him right in the solar plexus first, followed by genuine fear as he watched the blond lose her balance and begin to fall towards the crowd. 

He must have cried out, he didn’t know her name but he knew he must’ve said something, shouted something, and he was running toward her when her black shoe, a flat, seemingly-delicate-looking thing, nailed him right on the face, buckle-first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, behave, Jaime!  
> I totally ripped such fun from Miranda.  
> The lyrics to The Bear and The Maiden Fair come from the books. The show version is slightly different. Lyrics by George RR Martin.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search begins.  
> Also some Renly POV.

All characters by George RR Martin.

I own nothing and know nothing.

 

When Renly saw Brienne climbing up the table and yelling at the crowd to sing The Bear and The Maiden Fair with her, his first instinct was to shove his way through the crowd and get her down. All he wanted was to celebrate their success, have a good dinner and enjoy a few drinks. Oh, he thought it would be fun to see his very proper, always correct, by-the-book friend drunk but he hadn’t anticipated that she would get _this_ drunk.

He and Jon knocked off their bar stools in their haste but once they were near the table where Brienne was holding an impromptu concert, the two men looked at each other then at her.

Uninhibited, there was a lightness in Brienne’s face, which didn’t make her amazing eyes look out of place in a face that she herself had admitted even the Mother would struggle to love. She looked younger, fresh, she looked like a winter rose in full bloom in her blue shirt and pale skin, truth be told. And the way she moved, slightly shouldering her way to the crowd just enough to get them to part and make way for her—she’d never done that sober, always sticking to the corner or the peripheries.

Drunk Brienne not only took the stage, she ruled it and owned it.

And it drew people, drawn like moths to a new burning flame. Renly had shaken his head in disbelief as he saw them rise from their booths or leave their stools to approach the makeshift stage. Half of tonight’s customers were in their classes. He’d glared at some men and women smiling maliciously when it became clear that Brienne was very drunk. Catching his warning look, their faces cleared and they looked away but it was too late. Before the night was over, Renly was going to get everyone in the bar to order drinks on their tab.

He watched Brienne curse the crowd and they hooted in approval. He grinned, because only he and Jon were aware how much Brienne cursed. Then she demanded they sing with her and geek that she was, of course it was the song she had analyzed in her conference paper. She could have picked any song by the rock band Drogon but this was Brienne. Her interests were quite singular but she was damned passionate about them.

So like everyone gathered around, he sang along and clapped, cheered. Since he was literally looking up at Brienne, he saw her rolling her hips, pumping them in the air so aggressively that even he blushed. Maybe sensible, sober Brienne was still inside because she quickly replaced it with a series of high kicks that told everyone their plain, awkward classmate was _very flexible._

Renly swore the air thickened with testosterone the moment she began slicing her legs through the air. Jon was playing the piano, singing along, egging the crowd to sing some more as Brienne turned then began twirling, moving as fast as a tornado. Then she decided to kick a final time and in doing so, her shoe flew off.

Panic was clear on Brienne’s face when she realized what happened and she tried to catch her shoe but she mis-stepped. Renly had shouted in horror as she began to fall.

Renly shut his eyes as Brienne’s body sped to the ground and he winced, waiting for the sickening plop of her body and the blood from the impact spattering to his mouth.

There was nothing. Only quiet. Only the very softest shuffling.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and was stunned to see the mosh pit was carrying Brienne, easily passing her through hands and arms until she reached the edge of the crowd and was lowered to the floor. As Renly sprang towards her, he caught sight of two men catching their friend as he fell to the floor. He was so terrified for Brienne he didn’t even pause to check out if the unconscious blonde man was as hot as he thought he looked.

Jon reached Brienne first, gently cradling her upper body in his arms and lightly slapping her cheeks. Renly fell on his knees beside him. The bar had gone quiet.

“Did she hit her head?” Renly asked, snapping his fingers right before Brienne’s eyes while Jon continued patting her cheeks and coaxing her to wake up.

“I can’t tell. I know nothing,” Jon said, shaking her. “Brienne, hey. Wake up.”

Renly pressed a hand close to her mouth. “She’s breathing.”

A whimper fluttered out of Brienne’s lips. Her eyes screwed shut for a few seconds before they opened.

Renly and Jon winced. Her eyes were clear but very bloodshot.

“Are you hurt? How do you feel?” Jon asked.

Brienne shook her head and pressed her face to his chest.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to answer. We need to know if we should take you to the emergency room.”

Brienne opened her eyes and slurred, “Head. Diz. . .zy. Bed. Want bed.”

She clutched at the collar of Jon’s shirt and then passed out again.

 

While Jon and Renly carried Brienne out of the bar, Bronn threw ice water onto Jaime’s face.

He sputtered, turning his head violently as water dripped inside his nostrils and lodged in his throat. Awakening, his eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he coughed violently.

“How many fingers?” Addam shoved his fingers a bit too closely to his eyes that Jaime jerked back and hit his head on the floor.

“Ow.”

Addam shook his fingers. “How many fingers?”

“If you want to keep all of your fingers you’d stop waving them at my face.”

“You know who you are?” Bronn asked. “Where you are?”

Despite his face hurting, Jaime rolled his eyes. “Keep treating me like I have amnesia and I’ll make you forget who you are. Help me up.”

Grunting, Jaime heaved himself up to a sitting position as Addam and Bronn pulled then steadied him. He blinked and saw that the crowd was gone. Rather people had gone back to their tables with friends or paired up with dates or potential hook-ups. He frowned and raised his hand to scratch his head when he realized it held something.

The black shoe.

Clutching it to his chest, Jaime shot to his feet, ignoring how the world tilted from the sudden motion. He looked around then at his friends.

“What happened? To all the singing?”

“She fell,” Addam replied.

“ _She fell?_ Is she alright?” Jaime asked, paling.

“Do you see any ambulance or blood on the floor? She’s fine. Her friends took her,” Bronn said.

“How sure are you they’re her friends?” Without waiting for a reply, Jaime walked up to the bar and called the bartender.

The bartender was a fat kid with curly dark hair and a pinched expression on his face. He burst into a smile when he faced Jaime. “Hey, you’re alive man! That was intense.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen. The woman who fell—“

“What about her?”

“Is she alright?” The bartender shrugged. “I think so. Nobody told me to call emergency services or anything.” He pointed at the shoe Jaime held. “What’re you doing with that? Souvenir?"

Jaime glanced at it and for some reason, gripped it tighter. He continued asking, “My friends tell me her friends took her. Is this true?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re friends alright. They come here often.”

“I need names.”

“What for? Sir, you seem like a nice man but I haven’t seen you before. Why are you so concerned?”

At his question, Jaime gave him look that had him backing towards the shelf holding all the liquor.

“Look, I don’t rat on my customers, especially when they’re not doing anything wrong. Unless you’re a cop or have a warrant or whatever, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

“I’m a cop. Detective Jaime Langer.”

“I’m going to need to see an ID.”

“Fuck it, kid.” Jaime slammed the bar in frustration with one hand. The bartender jumped and his face twisted more than ever.

Jaime closed his eyes, counted to five then opened them. The transformation was complete. He was now Jaime Lannister, the lion of Lannister, heir of Tywin, charm extraordinaire. Always gets what he wants.

“I apologize sincerely for my behaviour. It’s inexcusable. But as you can see, there’s the matter of her property,” he glanced at the shoe, “and I would like to return it.”

“I can return it to her.”

“When will you be returning it to her?”

“When she comes.”

It was a harmless, innocent statement but Jaime suddenly flashed on the image of the blond with her sapphire eyes blown wild, her pink mouth open, her tongue peeking out as she shattered from his lovemaking. Unbelievably, all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his cock.

_I should really fuck a woman soon._

“Look, what’s your name. . .Hot Pie. Hot Pie? Really? Where’d you get a name like that?”

Hot Pie frowned at him. “Where’d you get a name like Jaime?”

“I did not mean to cause offense.”

Hot Pie considered this then shrugged. “Okay.”

“I would like to return her shoe to her. I mean her no harm. That’s all I want. Return her shoe.”

“Well,” Hot Pie paused then said, “I can’t tell you where she lives. That’s violating confidential information, you know. I don’t want to go to the Black Cells.”

“I understand. And you won’t. I swear to you.”

“I’m not sure about her name. But she always comes in with the two men, one who doesn’t seem to have any idea what shampoo is and one who probably spends all day fixing his hair.  I’ve only seen hair that good and perfect on TV. Well, yours is a close contender but since you got knocked out it’s a bit of a mess.”

Jaime resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at the boy but couldn’t stop the hand reaching up to run a finger through his shoulder-brushing mane. He munched on the information he had so far. He didn’t know if he should be intrigued that the high-kicking blond who clearly had not had that much to drink until tonight was in some sort of relationship with two men or to regard this information as a major hint from the Seven to stay away.

_She must need two men because her legs are too damn long._

“So, ah, these two men, she’s, like, with them? The three of them together?” He couldn’t say the words. _Is she fucking both of them?_

Hot Pie looked confused. “Huh?”

“Are they in. . .an arrangement. They. . .share her.” The last two words came out harsh and bitter.

“What? No, no. Who does that? I think they’re just friends. I know. The guy with the nice hair is gay. The other one’s always hitting on other women.”

“What about her?”

“Her? Well, if she’s with someone now I haven’t seen him. Last year there was someone. Some guy named Hal or something. He doesn’t come here anymore, not after the guy with movie star hair—“

“The Seven help me,” Jaime interrupted, glancing up the ceiling. “Just give me their names.”

“—hit him and told him to never come back here. I don’t really know his name but I hear his family’s in wine or something. The friend. With the nice hair,” Hot Pie clarified.

“And her?”

“Her? I wouldn’t know. Not much of a talker unless with them. Curses like an Ironborn she does, the few times I overheard her.”

“A name, Hot Pie. Give me a name.” Jaime leaned both hands on the counter and glowered at the boy, his green eyes hard emerald shards.

“That’s just it. I’m not sure if I got it right. Bren. Yeah,” Hot Pie nodded, his cheeks and jowls flapping. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. Bren. That’s her name. And that’s all I’ll give you, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I have customers waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not plan the Cinderella twist. At all.   
> Renly not only knows style and good hair, he can also throw a punch!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Some Jon POV.

All characters by George RR Martin. I own nothing and know nothing.

 

Even before Jon felt himself fully wake, he knew he was in a woman’s apartment. A woman’s apartment was a plethora of smells both homey and sexy. Maybe it was because the fairer species bothered with things like spraying perfume on their pillows right before sleeping so they woke up the next day with a nice smell on their hair and shoulders. Some didn’t, however, such as the woman he was sleeping next to now. He detected only the smell of cotton from the pillows and sheets, which felt too soft and too worn under him, and shampoo. The shampoo was a faint vanilla fragrance. He breathed it in deeply, sighing contentedly.

As he debated whether to wake up or continue sleeping, a heavy arm fell on his waist. He started but quickly recovered by threading his fingers through a warm hand. Long fingers, slightly rough palms. He liked that. You didn’t get a lot of friction when a hand is too soft, so you wanted the woman to have working hands but not so rough she’d cause you blisters when rubbing your cock. Grinning, his eyes still closed, Jon pulled the woman’s hand down to his pants. He could figure out who he went home with later.

He was about to push the hand down his erection when an outraged gasp burst in his ear, followed by a hard shove that sent him sprawling to the floor. “Hey!” Jon groaned, bracing himself on his elbows and knees as he fell. He turned around and saw Brienne glaring at him.

Her hair was quashed flat on one side while the other stood on its end like pussy willows. She was red-faced and squinting at him with bloodshot blue eyes. Her shirt looked like crumpled tissue paper.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She demanded and then winced, her fingers climbing to her temples. “Ugh.” 

“Sorry,” Jon said, standing up while Brienne fell back on the bed, still clutching her head. There was a slight throbbing in his head but it was nothing Advil could fix. “Stay there. I’ll go look for something.”

“Like what?” Brienne groaned, pushing her head under a pillow. “Why don’t you just kill me. I’d thank you. You have my word.”

“Not happening. I like you too much, Tarth.”

“Right,” she snapped. 

Jon chuckled and went to her bathroom. There was a small medicine cabinet. As he rifled through its contents for Advil, Brienne continued talking.

“You and Renly are fucking bastards, swearing to me we’ll only have one drink. I’m such an idiot for believing.”

“Oh come on, you didn’t have fun last night?” Jon joked, finding a full blister pack of Advil. He removed her toothbrush and toothpaste from the glass on the sink and filled it with water. He took an Advil for himself, drank, then refilled the glass. Brienne was still hiding her face under the pillow when he returned to her side.

“Here,” he thrust the glass to her.

“It feels like the War of the Five Kings in my head,” she moaned. Jon chuckled.

“Come on, sweetheart. Take this. Then we’ll get dressed and feed you greasy bacon and eggs.”

“Don’t mention eggs. And no, we’re not going anywhere. My head hurts too much.”

“Big, strong Brienne felled by tequila shots?”

“I can only imagine what your liver looks like.”

“Have you ever been hungover before?” 

“No!” Brienne raised the pillow and glared at him. “Thanks a lot, you pervert. Do you go home every night with some woman that you wake up. . .wake up. . .” 

Jon smiled when her face heated up again and brought a rush of tomato color from forehead to neck.   
“I’m a man in my prime, Tarth. I like women. I enjoy women.”

“But to wake up like that. Really, Jon. I know you’re crass but not that crass” 

“Since when is waking up to a hand job crass?” As Brienne reddened further, he mused, “Well. A man must be proper and correct to get the Brienne Tarth seal of approval, it seems.”

“No, I’m not saying that’s. . .manners that need immediate improvement.”

“Immediate improvement,” he mocked.

“Shut up. Still, for you to just grab my hand and then. . .do that. I mean, I know you’ve most likely gone through all women in our class—“

“Not yet.”

“Tell me the truth. Do you remember who you go home with?”

“Well. Last night I did.” His smile was so cheeky Brienne couldn’t help but laugh. Then she rolled her eyes and winced because it didn’t help the hoofbeats galloping in her head. 

“You’re impossible. Now give me that.” 

Brienne held out her hand for the Advil. Jon helped her sit up and watched her pop it in her mouth. He gave her the water next.   
Watching her, he asked,  
“So, you’ve never woken up wanting to do something naughty?”

“None of your business.” 

“You know, I’ve never been with a girl who blushes as much as you do. Might be interesting to find out.”

“I would gladly shove your teeth in if you do.”

“Whoo-hoo, Brienne likes it rough!” 

“Why I’m friends with you I’ll never understand.”

She finished drinking her water then asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s seven. You can go back to sleep while I go round the corner and get us some food.”

“Where’s Renly?”

Jon shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I just realized he isn’t here.”

He did remember carrying Brienne up to her fourth-floor apartment and dumping her none too gently on her bed because his legs had gone numb. Renly had come in after, saw that Jon was already making himself comfortable on Brienne’s bed and proceeded to crash on the couch. Said couch was empty right now.

Brienne lay back on the bed while Jon took his wallet from the nighstand. He was about to head out when the door opened and in came Renly, a tray holding three venti cups of coffee.

“Hola, drunks,” Renly said, shutting the door with a bang.

“Fuck!” Brienne growled.

“Sorry.” Renly went to her and offered her one of the coffees. “Here. Drink up and then we’re going out for breakfast. All you have here is tofu.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m too busy dying.”

“A classic symptom of a hangover. Come on.” He pushed the coffee right under Brienne’s nose. 

“I hate you,” Brienne told them as she took the cup. She closed her eyes at the smell of coffee before taking a sip.

“Another symptom,” Renly said, shrugging. He flopped beside her on the bed and started drinking his coffee. Jon helped himself to his share. Ah. Great coffee.

“So, what can you say about your first hangover?” Renly asked Brienne with a grin.

“Fuck you. Fuck you both. Little shits,” she muttered and Renly laughed.

She managed to finish half a cup before she felt herself almost human. She glared at her friend again swinging her legs to the side of the bed. She stretched, yanking her crusty shirt from the waistband of her pants as she raised her arms before she stood up.

Something felt weird. Brienne looked down and frowned.

“What happened to my other shoe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter, this one. Because even I'm getting impatient as to when Jaime and Brienne will meet! Ugh, when, when, when!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sort of meeting.  
> Don't hate me. 
> 
> Renly drops a bombshell. Jaime might just save LSM Creatives.   
> Pies at Frey's!

A dark purple bruise had blossomed under Jaime’s left eye overnight. Green eyes shot with streaks of red on their whites stared back at him. He bent and washed his face, taking care when he started rubbing the spot near the bruise. Finishing, he patted his skin dry and looked at himself again. Now he didn’t look so bad. 

He swallowed two Advil before hitting the shower. The rush of warm water and steam helped him from feeling a lot tired and older than his thirty-eight years. He raised his head towards the gentle but strong rush of water and closed his eyes.

Images danced in his mind, bringing with them emotions: the knot of impatience he felt forming behind his eyes as Addam and Bronn joined in the cheering and singing, the almost physical blow in his body upon realizing what was happening to the woman. Blond hair. Short. High kicking legs. The most unusual blue eyes he had ever seen. They pulled him, their light magick, he was sure, for he had never been drawn like that before, like a moth to a flame. The hardening of his cock and his anger at how close she was to two men—the confusion—why should he care? 

He was in his bedroom, a towel wrapped low on his hips while he selected a watch to wear for today when he felt the spark of an idea. He went to the nightstand to get his phone and called Addam.

“Did you also take pictures last night?” he asked as soon as Addam answered.

“Pictures? You mean from the bar?”

“Yeah. The last one we went to.”

“I did. Why?”

“I have an idea. Meet me at Frey’s in thirty minutes? And tell Bronn too.”

Jaime got dressed, slipping on another of his crisp white shirt’s and pairing it with a navy suit that was the exact shade of the blond’s shirt. He paused in the act of slipping it on then continued. He had been without a woman too long, that’s all. She was the first he’d looked at in years. Then there was the matter of her shoe, and he glanced at the black, silver-buckled flat he’d placed next to his phone before sleeping. It was a size twelve. The brand logo had long faded so this was all he had.

Bren.

“Bren,” he tested the name in his tongue. An odd name. It had to be short for something. 

He took his wallet and keys, got his laptop and left the apartment. 

 

“Much thanks,” Brienne told the waitress gratefully as she was poured another coffee refill. 

“You’re welcome,” the waitress told her. Her name tag read Ygritte.

Jon smiled at the waitress as she poured more coffee to his cup but it went unnoticed. She finished pouring more into Renly’s then left to oversee another table’s need. Jon sniffed and returned his attention to his food.

Their table was overflowing not just with breakfast food but also some of the pies they ordered. Frey’s was known for having over sixy pie flavours as well as serving the most filling breakfast this side of Westeros. 

Brienne had a thick stack of strawberry pancakes, topped with whipped cream and syrup, strips of crispy bacon and a slice of chocolate whipped cream pie. Renly was eating through a bowl of oatmeal served with fresh fruits of the season, as well as bacon and sausages. In between he took forkfuls of banana cream pie. Jon ordered a shepherd’s pie, which he ate first. Now he was working through his omelette and waffles.

With every bite, Brienne’s disposition improved. The War of the Five Kings were going through diplomatic negotiations now, so there was some quiet in her head. She took a bite of bacon and was about to say something when she spotted a tall figure with blond hair just brushing his broad shoulders entering the diner. 

And he seemed to have brought with him the light.

In the breakfast crowd he wouldn’t see her but Brienne saw him, irradiated in the soft gold of the sun. Even with just his profile facing her, he cut an eye-catching, handsome figure. His hair was thick, golden waves that she was sure he was born with. Avaitors perched on his high, elegant nose hide half his face but she made out the high cheekbones, the trimmed beard of a color a shade or two darker than his hair that emphasized the strength of his square jaw. Brienne didn’t know suits but she sensed what he wore was expensive. No one looked that sharp unless it was tailored.

He turned, giving her his back and extinguishing what little hope she had that he’d notice her. Of course, she forced herself a little laugh, prompting her friends to look at her curiously so she shook her head sipped her coffee, she was used to men either gawking at her for the freak she was or ignoring her completely. Experience taught her to prefer the latter. It didn’t destroy you, after all, not that she’d let that happen.

Still, she wondered, helping herself to a bite of Jon’s waffles, what would it be like to be noticed by a man such as that? She would most definitely embarrass herself, she knew. He would make fun of her, treat her like a non-being because of her looks. Men like him did. They always did. 

It was a fact she’d long accepted. Oh, Renly and Jon were exceptions but that was because one was a guy and the other saw her no more than as a friend. She didn’t wish either of them different, nor did she harbour any secret feelings. But won’t she ever feel how it was to be looked with want, genuine want? Or maybe be on the receiving end of a real attempt to flirt like Jon did with their waitress?

“Feeling better?” Renly asked as she was forking off her pancakes.

“Getting there, no thanks to both of you.”

“We will flay ourselves like the Boltons of old to convince you how sorry we are,” Jon joked.

“Or burn ourselves like that crazed Lord of Light cult.”

“Yeah, I’d settle for you dolts replacing my shoes. Those were my only fancy shoes, you know.”

“Maybe your prince found the missing half.”

“With my luck he’s going to be a toad like Hyle.”

“I will let forty thousand Dothraki horses run over me to prove I genuinely regret your losing your shoe,” Jon announced, pounding his fist on the table. 

“My dad called last week. Doctors say he should start turning over the vineyards.”

Their banter cut short, a pair of wide blue eyes and shocked gray eyes looked at Renly. 

“You can’t be leaving,” Brienne managed to say after a while. “Renly, he gave you three years.”

“And he’s had two strokes this year. That’s why I wanted us to go out last night,” Renly squeezed her hand. “I didn’t mention anything until now because I didn’t want our celebration to be sad.”

“But if he wants you back in Dragonstone next month, what happens to the conference?” Jon asked.

Renly didn’t answer. Brienne was outraged.

“You have to at least be able to go there and present your paper. All that hard work.”

“I’m needed soon. What’s to be done?” And for the first time since knowing him, Brienne's heart broke at his defeated voice. 

 

As Bronn and Addam ate their breakfast, Jaime waited for the photos from Addam’s phone be uploaded to his computer. 

All around him were the sounds of silver rubbing against china, plates being lowered, chairs scraping. It felt like being in the eye of the hurricane but Jaime had never felt his mind this clear, nor this inspired. His entire body was humming with excitement at what the photos could bring.

“Valyrian is a luxury beer but it’s catered primarily to men Nothing wrong with that. But from what I’ve seen last night, women can also like it,” Jaime said, pausing to sip his coffee before continuing. “All Valyrian ads of the last ten years have been this iconic shot of a bottle against different backgrounds. I looked at the brief again last night and what they want this time is a series of action photos, without the beer being there. I thought, why not an action shot, say, black-and-white photos and we have a bottle of Valyrian in the lower corner, the only colored object there besides some slogan. I’ve come up with two. This one, it reads `Play the game.’”

He turned his laptop and showed them Addam’s photo of a group of friends sitting at the bar, laughing. They were among the crowd singing last night, if he wasn’t mistaken. “I want to stylize it a bit, and have four men smiling and listening to a blond in the center. I don’t want a Marilyn Monroe blond. I want somebody sleek, maybe slinky. Tall, with cropped hair.”

He browsed through the photos again then showed them a photo of the giant screen from the sports bar, which showed the KLU and WSU football game. “ This one reads `Clash of kings.’”

Addam and Bronn listened as Jaime continued discussing his plans for the new Valyrian beer campaign. Every now and then, either man would comment on the art director’s idea, or ask a question. Jaime patiently guided them through every step of what intended to do, surprising them when he told them he’d already gotten in touch with the photographer Stannis Baratheon, who would be arriving this afternoon.

“Stannis Baratheon?” Addam remarked. “But doesn’t he do wildlife?”

“And looking to branch out. Why not have LSM Creatives give him the first opportunity, I thought.”

Bronn asked, “Can we afford him?”

“His current rate? No. I offered him the position of in-house photographer—“ Jaime held up his hand as they frowned and started to protest—“but told him I’ll discuss it with you first.”

“We’re LSM Creatives. What if he demands that his name be part of it?” Addam pointed out.

“Not if we have a contract. I’m not looking to make us into a foursome, gentlemen.”

“But if all you’re offering is a limited partnership, I still don’t understand why he’s taking the offer.”

Jaime smiled. “Let’s just say he owes me. Now, if I can go back to discussing the campaign? May I? Thank you.” 

As he slipped back to it as if he’d never been interrupted, from the other end of the diner, Renly, Brienne and Jon took care of their bill and stood up, ready for class. Jon walked ahead of them while Renly and Brienne continued talking, her hand wrapped around his elbow. Her eyes, having begun to light up as she started feeling better, were hooded now. Her shoulders were also hunched. Renly patted her hand and gently tucked an errant straw strand behind her ear. 

Out of the corner of Jaime’s eye, he thought he saw a familiar cropped blonde head. He turned around but saw only people laughing and eating. His eyes drifted to the windows, and maybe he saw the trio from last night crossing the street but they were too far away and he wasn’t sure. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend. 

Sapphires can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you as impatient as I am?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Bronn POV and an unexpected meeting.   
> AND STANNIS THE MANNIS.

All characters are owned by George RR Martin. I know nothing and own nothing. 

 

For all the times he called Jaime a pretty boy or a fucking cunt, Bronn admired and respected Jaime immensely. Anyone who knew that would think right away that it was because he was a little jealous of his best friend—the Seven had given him all the good looks and money no one alive would ever imagine. True, Jaime was an arrogant ass most of the time but Bronn was fully aware it came from a place where bullshit was not tolerated. Jaime preferred things straight-to-the-point and hated dancing around.

As soon as their breakfast meeting was over, the men of LSM Creatives went their separate ways to organize the day’s photo shoot. Addam was given the task of securing models and other accompanying staff as needed by the genetically-blessed. Jaime was off badgering the necessary people and securing permits for their location shoot. Bronn was to pick up Stannis Baratheon from the airport and oversee whatever the photographer may need.

Then came the announcement of the flight from Essos arriving. “I don’t know what Stannis looks like now so I told him to find you,” Jaime told Bronn. “Told him to go look for a bald guy dressed in black who looks like a sellsword of old.”

Bronn wasn’t insulted. His hairline was only receding. And so what if he looked like a sellsword? Heroes of history never interested him. He thought them cunts who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Sellswords such as the Golden Company and the Second Sons were his favorite but they were never really discussed in school, not that much, he recalled. The few times they were mentioned it was because their services turned the tide of war. Sellswords weren’t known for loyalty to anyone, only to gold.

Well, Bronn was loyal to men who knew what they were doing, which was why he joined LSM Creatives. He liked Lannister, and Marbrand wasn’t the most difficult person to get along with, he’d met worst. Bronn had simply never met anyone like Marbrand, who dutifully took notes and observed, shot photos on his cellphone for possible ideas. Bronn respected that, dedication. 

“Mr. Stokeworth.”

It wasn’t an inquiry but a declaration. Bronn turned to see who had spoken his name in the careful but smooth enunciation of the rich, as if paring his name syllable by syllable. 

Stannis Baratheon was not how he expected a wildlife photographer to look like. There were no khakis, not even a fedora like Indiana Jones and Bronn was a little disappointed. Rather, standing before him was a man dressed in an olive, military style jacket, rumpled t-shirt, faded jeans and sturdy boots encrusted in dry mud. Discreetly, Bronn stepped away, thinking some dried bits of earth might hit his eight hundred dragon loafers.

“Bronn. Formalities are shit. You must be Stannis.”

“I am.”

“I’m to take care of you for the shoot.”

“Is that so. Lannister didn’t mention a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter, man. I’m a partner in the agency that just hired you.” Bronn glanced at his trolley, loaded with one suitcase and huge bags of photography equipment. “That all you’re using?”

Stannis, who was well aware of his fame, was not used to someone being so unimpressed by him. 

“I have other tricks up my sleeve, I assure you.”

“You’d better. Now follow me. Big, strong photographer like you should be able to carry all that easily. Welcome to Westeros.”

 

“Look, I understand, I really do, but you can’t just have me pull the football team from practice. It’s the middle of the fucking season,” Tyrion Lannister said, his one green eye and one black eye conveying his impatience at the man who sat before him.

Jaime was in the office of the president of King’s Landing University-Westeros. The size alone could fit the entire office of LSM Creatives and his own apartment, he estimated. But where LSM Creatives was all light and wide spaces, the president clearly preferred dark wood panelling, heavy, oak furniture and just enough sunlight filtering through the window. It reminded Jaime too much of Casterly Rock, his home. 

If memory served him right, Tyrion wasn’t too happy when he lived at Casterly Rock either. Why he’d bring that here Jaime couldn’t deduce.

“All I ask is two hours,” Jaime pressed. “Just two hours, Tyrion. They’ll practice as they do and then we’ll shoot them.”

“You and I both know they won’t be practicing as they do. You’re going to put them in costume and makeup and have some fussy, hissy director ordering them how to pose and some diva photographer who’d complain and complain they don’t look right. Jerks as the football team are, they are students under my responsibility.”

“I am not a fussy, hissy director.”

“Doubtless the photographer will be.”

“It’s Stannis Baratheon.”

Tyrion looked surprised. “Stannis the Mannis? How is he back here? How did you get him back here?”

“He asked me to help introduce his brother to our dear sister. Robert Baratheon had it bad for Cersei while she was sewing up his leg after a hunting accident. Love at first sight for him, she thought him an idiot for hunting animals for sport.”

“That is information you’ve only mentioned, brother.”

“What the hell do you care for if they’re dating?”

“So they’re dating.”

“Yeah. Cersei’s flipped, putting up all those photos on Instagram with stupid captions like `sunshine love,’” Jaime shuddered.

“And you?”

“Right now I’m trying to convince my brother to help me.”

“Are we still on that? I thought that’s settled. I said no.” 

Tyrion slipped off his chair and walked to a cabinet opposite his desk. His too-broad shoulders and short legs have challenged him with balance for a good part of his life. Jaime watched as his small hands easily grasped the thick neck of an intricately-carved glass bottle containing scotch. He poured an inch into two glasses. He took one of them for himself while he went to Jaime and gave him the other. Jaime sighed and took it.

“That’s forty year old scotch. Don’t waste it,” Tyrion said, taking the seat opposite Jaime rather than returning behind the desk.

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“So?” Tyrion sipped his.

Jaime put the glass on the desk. “Okay. There has to be something I can do to make this happen. Name your price, Tyrion.”

“Hmm,” Tyrion murmured thoughtfully.

Jaime kept his mouth shut as Tyrion pondered over this. He was a little creeped out with how close to Tywin his brother looked like then, calculating, scheming. Deformed and challenged as Tyrion was in the beginning, he would go on to be the sharpest Lannister in the bunch, skipping more school years than Jaime could remember. Tyrion started college at fourteen and graduated summa cum laude, got his PhD before he was twenty-five, tenured at twenty-nine years old. He rose through the ranks as department chair and dean before becoming university president last year, at thirty-nine years old. 

“You know, father is thinking of us having weekly dinners at Casterly Rock. Starting next week.”

Jaime winced. He could only imagine what that would be like, Tywin explaining how they disappointment him over the beef and fish course.

“Not the easiest time we will all be having. Of course, Cersei dating would probably get father of our backs, even if she is with a Baratheon. I mean, she’s never going to have Lannisters. But if you,” Tyrion slowly pointed at Jaime, “if you brought home a girl, there is a strong chance father wouldn’t even know I’m there. For all my achievements, Tywin still sees me as a dwarf and all the more unworthy of the Lannister name since I’m not interested in making a contribution.”

“You are a Lannister, Tyrion. The best among us.”

“Nice of you to say so. I’ve long ceased troubling myself over what father thinks, but if he forgets to complain about my work because you have a girl with you. . .”

“What girl? I’m too busy trying to get my company off the ground, I’m right now trying to convince you to help me but instead we’re in this unnecessary, time-wasting discussion. I’m not dating anyone—“as Jaime said that, he remembered eyes so round and blue stolen from all the sapphires in the world—“and I’m not interested, not now. Not when there’s still much I want to do for myself first.”

Tyrion’s expression was dry. “But I ask so little, brother.”

Jaime reached his endpoint. “Fine. You want father off your back? Fine. I’ll get some girl off the street and take her to Casterly Rock. There, are you happy? Now do I have your permission to shoot?”

 

Brienne went through her day in a daze. Alcohol still lingered in her system, making her body move in soft, flowing motions that made her feel as if she was in a fucking fertility dance. She took another Advil at the end of her class with Olenna Tyrell so that the throbbing in her head and neck would finally cease.

Now she was at the library, making additional notes for her conference paper. She was done with it and was going to show it to Renly this afternoon for his comments. Was she being cruel? But Renly did remind her before they parted ways after class.

There was a heaviness in her chest since Renly broke the news of his leaving. Brienne hated how, privileged as he was, he had little choice with how he wanted to live his life. But she understood duty and responsibility, understood too well of being the one who had to ensure the family endured. True, her own father had yet to pressure her to marry and start having babies, but whenever she visited Tarth, an uncle would pull her to the side and remind her that they were old, they would all be gone soon. The family businesses were hers to run when it happened but could she do it knowing her heart wasn’t in it? Could she do it alone? And when it was her turn to go, what would happen to all their hard work? 

It hurt and angered her, the. . .injustice being done to Renly. What’s to be done? He said it himself. Indeed, what was left to do? Especially when the person most concerned with it had already made the choice. 

Brienne sighed then turned to her laptop, tapping the keys. Her paper was twenty-five pages, excluding the bibiliography. A good length, hopefully she didn’t bore the audience when she read it. She saved the latest version in the flash drive and began to pack up her things.

The university computer lab was buzzing with the whirr of computer monitors and the loud clicking of keys as students tapped out their papers. Brienne handed her flash drive to the guy in charge of printing services. “It’s twenty-five pages,” she said.

She had to admit it was thrilling watching sheet per sheet of her conference paper sliding out of the mission, fresh and clean, her ticket towards academia. Feeling a little better, she started humming as she exited the computer lab.

The sun was high up and bathed the grounds of the campus, making everyone appear golden and wrapped in a happy cloud. Brienne gave a small smile as dried red and gold leaves that have fallen from the canopy of trees carpeted the path she was walking on. She was looking at her feet as she walked and in doing so, almost walked right into a small figure directly on her path. Her shoes screeching to a halt, she looked up and realized she didn’t have to do it much. Not when standing beside her was the small, tweed-clad figure of the university president, Dr. Tyrion Lannister.

“Dr. Lannister, I’m so sorry,” Brienne gasped. “Did I. . .are you okay?”

“It’s a miracle you still saw me, deep as you are in your thoughts, as I can see,” Tyrion Lannister replied, fixing his glasses and looking up at her. 

His hair was thick and blond, pale and gold, and mixed with darker blond locks. His eyes had different colors, one green, one black. A dwarf, Tyrion Lannister nevertheless carried himself as if he were at least six feet tall, and was looking at Brienne as if there wasn’t two feet of height difference between them.

“You’re a woman,” he suddenly said. 

Brienne flushed. Not this again.

“My apologies. That was rude. It’s just that you’re so tall. I wonder, if you would care to indulge a rude little man, Miss—“  
“Brienne. Brienne Tarth.”

“Brienne Tarth. Isn’t Tarth an isle in the Stormlands? The Sapphire Isle, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It is, Dr. Lannister.”

“And you’re a student here?”

“I’m doing my Master’s in Literature, yes.”

“If my father’s here, he would dismiss it as fluff, a waste of time. He told me the same thing when I started my Master’s in Chemistry. However, unlike him, I have a healthy appreciation of the arts and the humanities,” Tyrion cleared his throat. “I’ve only been there once. Beautiful place. Well, back to my question, I was wondering, Miss Tarth, if you wouldn’t mind telling me how tall you are? I’m merely curious. I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

Brienne could tell from his voice and the way he was looking at her that he meant no harm, that he was speaking the truth. 

Softly, her cheeks warming even more, she said, “I’m six-foot-three.”

“Six-foot-three. Well. That’s a good height, Miss Tarth. If I were you, I’d try walking with my chin up rather than down. Seems a waste of those very significant inches. And the sun feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” And Dr. Lannister smiled. “Thank you for indulging me, Miss Tarth. I wish you a good day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHH, when will Jaime and Brienne finally meet?
> 
> In the books, Tyrion is the youngest among the Lannisters. I made him the eldest here, with only a one year difference with Jaime and Cersei. 
> 
> That `sunshine love' bit comes from Lena Headey's Instagram photo with the sexy Pedro Pascal.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Baratheons!   
> It's coming together, I promise.

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing.

 

Since Brienne knew Renly was expecting her, she didn’t think to call ahead. She did make a stop at a coffee shop and got a box of chocolate éclairs before continuing her way to his apartment off-campus.

Brienne’s apartment was a small building right across the university while Renly’s was in a quieter, more upscale area. It was a fifteen-minute walk and after spending a good part of the day in the library and almost stepping right on the university president, Brienne needed to stretch her legs. She was still embarrassed over the incident and hoped that it didn’t bother Dr. Lannister as much as it did her.

“Hello, George,” Brienne told the doorman stationed at Renly’s building. She guessed him to be in his fifties. His face, though lined, was still smooth but his hair was thick and white—you couldn’t guess what color it used to be. He smiled at her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Tarth. Come to join the party, have we,” he said, getting the door for her.

“Party?”

He shrugged. “Going on for that last hour or so, since they arrived.”

Confused, Brienne balanced the box of pastries in her hand as she pressed the open button for the elevator. The doors parted and she entered. She punched in Renly’s floor number.

Soon, she was knocking on his door. The walls were thick in this building, and the floor was carpeted, muffling every sounds. But Brienne easily picked up at least two voices from inside. She knocked louder. “Renly,” she called out.

The door swung open. Brienne frowned at the man who answered it. “I’m sorry, but I thought I was at Renly Baratheon’s apartment,” she said, confused.

“This is the Baratheons' apartment,” said the man. His hair was black and brushed back from his high forehead. His gray eyes were pale and clear, and looked at her in a way that said there was nothing she could hide from him. It wasn’t a leering, suggestive stare but it still made Brienne uncomfortable to regarded like that. Though she wore a lot of black herself, she didn’t wear it from top to toe, unlike the man.

“I’m Bronn,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it and felt palms and fingers rougher than hers. “Funny, I thought Renly’s gay.”

“I’m a friend—“

Now that the door was open, the raised voices were louder. Bronn stepped aside and let Brienne in.

“What’s going on?” Brienne asked.

“Children arguing over a toy, from the looks of it,” Bronn answered, crossing his arms.

They were standing in the foyer. The loud argument was coming from somewhere in the apartment. Brienne had been here many times but she couldn’t recall ever walking in on Renly fighting with someone. She'll never get used to the stag head mounted at the wall, however. Renly told her he hunted it when he was sixteen. Brienne thought it gruesome to have such a display in your own home.

Suddenly, Renly and a taller man dressed in what looked like a military jacket and mud-splattered boots came to the foyer. The resemblance was strong between them, and the taller man looked like an older, battered version of Renly. Even in his t-shirt and jeans, Renly looked polished and gleaming while the other man looked like he lived rough. Their faces were drawn tight and sour but upon seeing Brienne, immediately cleared.

“Brienne,” Renly said.

“I can’t have work over but you can bring your girlfriend in anytime, is that it?” The man demanded, looking at Brienne.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Brienne protested.

“Damn it, Stannis, how many times do I have to remind you I’m gay? Excuse me for a second, Brienne,” Renly said, his fingers clutched on his hair as if to yank them by the roots. He turned to the man. “Stannis, you can’t just come here with all your fucking equipment blocking the hallway and the door and then leaving behind a mess. And now you tell me Jaime Lannister is coming over to talk about work. Why are you in Westeros and why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And since when did you start working with Jaime Lannister?”

“Oh, so what, I need your permission to stay at the family apartment?”

“Not when I’ve been looking after it.”

“It seems I’ve come at a bad time,” Brienne cut in, flushing. “Uh, Renly, I could just leave my paper behind—“

“No, there’s no need to hurry Brienne. If Stannis wants to have a meeting here then we’re having our little talk. The Seven knows the apartment is big enough. Was big enough until this Wildling here decided to crash. I would have appreciated a quick text, brother. And the mess, for crying out loud.”

But Stannis was no longer listening. He was walking towards Brienne, smiling, his hand out.

“The name’s Stannis Baratheon. Brienne, is it? So you’re not fucking my little brother, eh?”

"Stannis!" Renly yelled. 

 

 

Having secured the football team and the field for a two-hour shoot later in the day, Jaime went to Ye Old Gods next. He had to wait ten minutes outside before the bar opened. Expecting to find Hot Pie, he saw a redhead behind the counter, wiping the glasses dry with a clean cloth. She wore her long hair piled in a twist behind her head that resembled a French pastry. She was wearing a black t-shirt with Ye Old Gods in white letters. Pinned on the left side of her chest was her name tag: Ros. 

“Pour you a drink?” she asked Jaime as he sat down.

“No, thank you.” His head hurt from the scotch. “I’m looking for Hot Pie.”

“He doesn’t come in until tonight.”

“If I need permission regarding the bar, to whom should I speak to?”

“In what way will you be using the bar?”

“Are you the person I need to speak to regarding that?”

She looked at him. “Hmm. I’m the person who will tell you whom you should speak to if you tell me exactly what it is you want.”  
Ten minutes later, Jaime was sitting in the cramped office of the bar owner, Petyr Baelish.

 

Despite Brienne’s offer to leave, Stannis Baratheon had put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the kitchen. He was around five-foot-eleven, so he didn’t have to raise his head much to look at her as he spoke. 

“You’re expected, after all, surely you wouldn’t leave right away,” he said, pulling out a chair for Brienne. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Stop bothering her, Stannis,” Renly said from behind them, sounding annoyed. He went to the fridge. “I have Coke and juice here, Brienne, and beer. Anything sounds good?”

“Such choices,” Stannis said, sitting down next to her. Meanwhile, Bronn entered the kitchen, carrying the pink box from the coffee shop. “I will have beer, brother, being that you were so kind to ask me.”

“Oh! I brought something,” Brienne said, standing up to get the box from Bronn. “Thanks, Bronn.”

“Get your own beer,” Renly told Stannis. “Brienne?”

“Do you have tea? I don’t think I can handle anything stronger yet.”

“Tea it is.”

Brienne opened the box of éclairs and blushed. There were only three, one for her and two for Renly, who had a sweet tooth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know Renly had company so. . .”

“I don’t eat a lot of sweet these days, so go ahead,” Stannis said, smiling at Brienne. 

Gods, she thought, how could he look like Renly but be creepy? The way he was touching her and looking at her. It was unsettling. At least she wasn’t alone with him.

“Bronn? Anything I can get you?” Renly was still pointedly ignoring Stannis.

“Beer would be nice.”

Renly handed him a bottle of Valyrian. Bronn looked at the beer before taking the bottle opener Renly offered to him.   
“You know, we’re doing a photo shoot for the brand,” Bronn commented, sitting beside Stannis on the table. Brienne, who stood by the counter, elected to not return to her seat. Instead, she helped Renly with the tea, filling up the kettle for him. He placed it on the gas range and lit the kettle’s bottom.

“Ah, so the account is yours, then?” Stannis asked.

“Not yet. We’re presenting tomorrow.”

“You’re cutting it too close.”

“Lannister only got the idea this morning. Seems getting knocked on the head last night put some fire under his ass,” Bronn said. 

“I would have wanted to see that,” Renly said.

“What, so you could kiss it?”

Renly's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I thought you were the one doing the ass-kissing, brother." 

"You had the biggest crush on Lannister when you were a teenager."

“ Keyword teenager. And just because I like men doesn’t mean I like all men. I don’t go for blondes.” Renly glanced at Brienne. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Bronn suddenly squinted at Brienne. “Speaking of blondes, you look very familiar. Were you at Ye Old Gods last night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bronn's my new favorite.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not cross Renly and anyone he cares about because he will destroy you.

All characters by George RR Martin. 

I own nothing. And know nothing.

 

“Oh, gods,” Renly exclaimed with a laugh. “Were you? Because—“

The warning look Brienne shot him silenced him quickly. She continued, “Ye Old Gods, huh? Why what happened last night?”

Bronn, who hadn’t noticed the significant look between them, replied, “Oh, there was this blond chick with hair like yours who got up and started singing. Crowd was really into it. She was good too. She sang The Bear And The Maiden Fair.”

 _Oh, the Seven just fucked me good_ , Brienne thought, horrified. The haze of her hangover had cleared but last night was still a scattered jigsaw puzzle in her head. The pieces of memories she had included getting up on the table and urging a growing crowd to sing with her. And of all the things to sing! The Bear And The Maiden Fair!

_Even when drunk I’m boring._

“You should’ve seen Jaime last night,” Bronn was telling Stannis. “He looked ready to kill Marbrand and me when we dragged him around last night. He sort of relaxed when we got to Ye Old Gods. Really seemed to have been taken by the blond broad, given how he went on and on about her being safe after she fell.”

 _Oh gods, I fell_. Brienne hung her head.

Renly glanced at Brienne and asked Bronn, “Really, huh? Concerned? Tell me, what did this woman look like?”

“Thought it was you at first,” Bronn told Brienne. “But you’re fairer. A lot fairer. And I wasn’t able to get a real close look since I was sitting at the bar. I only know she’s blond.” He shrugged. “Jaime would know. He managed to get close enough before getting decked by her shoe.”

 _“Her shoe?”_ Brienne echoed, sharply.

“Yeah. Hit him hard. Pretty boy’s got a black eye.”

_Oh fuck me hard._

During the exchange, Renly watched Brienne’s face go through the entire spectrum of red. He still felt guilty about getting her drunk. His friend wasn’t known to carry grudges, no matter the gravity of the grievance. But he took pity on her, seeing how embarrassed she was as Bronn, clueless, recounted what she did last night. It wasn’t her at all to do anything so wild, to let loose like that. Brienne Tarth liked order and though she would never admit it, had such a tight lid on herself that Renly sometimes wondered if she let herself breathe once in a while—and that was his attention behind getting her drunk, for her to forget being so responsible and right all the time and to tap into a side of hers she never knew about. The problem with good intentions was it was often the people behind it who only thought it good and when executed, it didn’t go as planned.

The kettle whistled. The redness on Brienne’s face began to recede by the time Renly pushed a cup of tea to her. She nodded, whispered her thanks and blew on it.

Bronn was looking at his watch. “Jaime should be here soon.”

 _He was coming here._ Brienne slammed the mug too hard on the counter, prompting the three other people in the room to look at her curiously.

“Sorry, it slipped,” she murmured. Clearing her throat, she turned to Renly. “Um, do you think I can come back here later when. . .things aren’t so. . .and besides, you still need to read it so you need time.”

“You emailed it to me a few days ago, remember? I have notes,” Renly said.

“Yeah, but I made some revisions and added some stuff. They’re on the print-out.”

“We can make ourselves scarce if it’s so important for you to be alone, “ Stannis offered. "Although, if you don't mind, I would like to hear what you wrote about. You must be in the same program as Renly, am I right? What kind of literature is your area of study?"

“Oh, no, you needn’t bother,” Brienne told him quickly.

They watched her leave the kitchen, leaving behind her barely-touched mug of tea. Renly followed her.

Brienne was shouldering her backpack when he spied her. “Hey, what’s the rush?” he asked.

It was like he’d yanked the pin off the grenade because Brienne exploded.

“Gods, Renly, weren’t you there when Bronn told what happened last night? What I did? I can’t believe I did those things. Singing on top of tables. Hitting some stranger with my shoe. How did that even happen? It’s the most. . .embarrassing thing that’s happened to me. I can’t—I can’t deal with that right now. And that guy. That Jaime Lannister. He has a black eye, Renly! A black eye! You think he’s going to be happy when he finds out it’s me? Bronn said he got close enough. At least Bronn isn’t too sure it’s me but oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” "So what if you hit him with your shoe? It was an accident. You kicked and he was unfortunately in the way. Jaime Lannister isn’t the sharpest but he’s not dumb enough to realize it wasn’t deliberate.” “Well, what about my getting up on the table and singing? Renly, be honest with me. How many saw me?”

Renly’s cheek pinked. “Jon and I had a talk with everyone in class. Told them never to bring it up or tease you about it. That’s what I was doing before I returned to your apartment this morning. I, ah, my brother Robert uses this detective agency for some of his cases, where he has them find all information about clients and suspects. He gave me a dossier of every member in our class before I started school. He wasn’t too pleased about my not taking over the vineyards, but he figured I should know who I’m around with. I’m a Baratheon, he said. People tend to act weird and too nice when they find out how rich you are. ”

Brienne frowned. “What kind of information would students such as ourselves have?”

“Well, for one, Jon has a juvie hall record that’s been expunged. If it’s been expunged, it must be bad. But look at how decent a guy he is.”

“So what if he has a juvie record? I don’t care about that.”

“You know that guy who sits in front of you in Tyrell’s class? He works in this high-class brothel that caters to the super-rich and uber-discreet. If the school finds out he’ll be expelled.”

“What?”

“The girl that Tyrell often calls? She’s having an affair with a married professor.”

“The brunette or the one with pink streaks?”

“Pink streaks.” Renly shrugged. “Just know that I have stuff on everybody. I never thought to use it, I swear to you. But you know how people are. Some would never let you live it down. The file was just gathering dust so I thought, why not.”

“You and Jon did that for me,” Brienne whispered in disbelief.

“Without question.”

“I don’t know whether to be thankful or terrified.”

Renly smiled. “Your gratitude will be better appreciated, I think.”

Brienne reached down and kissed him on the cheek but she said, “I should still go.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not yet ready to have a possible confrontation with a man at the receiving end of my shoe. You’ve seen how big my feet are. How big do you think his black eye is and how pissed is he? I can’t deal with that. Not now.”

 

 

Addam and Bronn were going to kill him, making that deal with Baelish, Jaime thought as he hurried down the street to the Baratheon apartment’s address Bronn had texted him. Before the men went their separate ways, Jaime wanted to meet with Bronn and Stannis first before the actual shoot. Bronn called him from the airport to tell him Stannis wanted some shut-eye and would like to meet at his apartment.

 _238 Dragon Drive._ There it was. A rotund doorman with a thick cloud of white hair was standing by its door. Jaime nodded at him and the man got the door open.

There were three elevators. Jaime pressed the up button, hoping that one of them would descend to get him asap.

It was almost two in the afternoon. There was still a lot of sun but knowing Stannis, he was going to complain about the light not being as perfect as morning’s. He was lucky if that was the only problem the hasty photo shoot would face. Sighing, he pulled off his aviators and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He watched as the digital display showed an elevator coming down to him, coming from the fifteenth floor, then fourteenth, thirteenth. He counted until the elevator dinged and opened. It was a nurse with her patient, an old man in a wheelchair.

The nurse smiled at Jaime shyly as she pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator. A wheel got stuck behind the door so she had to pull the wheelchair back and try again. As she did, the elevator rang a warning and its double doors started to close. Jaime pushed the hold button from inside and she smiled at him again.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, pushing the wheelchair. This time she succeeded.

Jaime entered the elevator and pressed the floor number to the apartment.

As he was doing this, another elevator descended, the one right across. Its doors began to part open just as the ones in his elevator started to close. Right before they did, Jaime saw a figure in a denim jacket over a t-shirt with a grizzly brown bear print stepping out of the other elevator.

Ridiculous clothes for a grown man, he thought, his eyes taking in the lad’s great height and short blond hair.

 _Cropped blond hair_ , Jaime realized, at the very moment his green eyes slammed right into a round, startled stare only made so brilliant because they had stolen the light from all the sapphires in the world.

“Bren,” he called her, stepping forward. But the elevator doors closed firmly and he slammed his nose right on them. _“Fuck!”_

As stars danced before his eyes, the elevator lurched up, taking him away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It almost happened!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves. Elevators are coming!

All characters by George RR Martin.

I own nothing and know nothing.

 

“ _Bren_?” Brienne said, scowling at the elevator that had just closed. She watched the numbers on the digital display indicate where it was taking the man—the man who had first looked at her with green eyes so hard and cold they may have been glaciers from The Lands of Always Winter until they widened with recognition. Try as she did to remember when she’d seen him before, however, she drew nothing but a blank.

How would he know her? And _why_ would a man such as he know her?

She replayed the past twenty seconds before: she stepping off the elevator, as always looking at her sneaker-clad feet when something compelled her to look up. A voice, instinct, _something_ , so she did, and that was when she saw him.

Thick, blond hair, golden waves swept back and brushing his shoulders, his green eyes sharp, emerald shards when they saw her at first until he said her name—sort of, because it sounded like Bren but she’d been called Brian before, so it wasn’t so bad—he said her name as if he knew her and she could only stand before him, surprised and confused. Then he made to move towards her but the elevator got him first and as the car carried him up, she heard him cursing with the gale-force of an angry storm.

She’d opened the door and now she was being pulled in, deeper and deeper into the recesses of her mind. And what it showed her drew a full blush from her hairline to toes.

She hit the elevator button with the side of her fist.

 

“Fuck the Seven!” Jaime roared, punching the doors as they remained stubbornly shut like the Maiden’s legs. He couldn’t believe it, _she was right here_ , in this building, she’d been mere _inches_ from him and fuck! Of all the days for an elevator to do its job, it had to be today.

It brought him to the fifteenth floor, burst open but Jaime didn’t step out. He pushed the button for the lobby. Probably in revenge for his cruelty, the elevator jerked him down.

As soon as the display flashed that he was in the lobby, Jaime threw himself out of the car and looked around, whipping his head from left to right.

There was a couple waiting and they drew a wide circle around him, darting worried looks at him before they got into the safety of the elevator. Jaime didn’t care. Lions didn’t waste their time on the opinions of sheep. So what if he looked crazed with his wide eyes, black eye, reddening nose, sweat pouring down his neck? _Where was she_?

Up ahead, he saw a familiar cloud of white hair.

“Excuse me! Sir, hello! I need to ask you something!” Jaime called out, running towards the doorman.

While Jaime was going to the doorman, Brienne was back at Renly’s floor and looking from one end of the hallway to another. He must live here, she thought. He looked like he belonged in a place like this. It was odd he’d be hanging out in a bar like Ye Old Gods but maybe he just happened to be there, she thought. Maybe he was with a friend.

_Maybe he was with a date._

Her face pulled tight in a frown.

Last night was now all clear to her. Brienne remembered climbing up the table and encouraging the crowd to sing for her and with her. She remembered dancing wildly, thrusting her hips which explained the stiffness in her waist and hipbones today—it did not come from being squeezed in bed with another person. She remembered the world spinning as madly as she did, probably more, and as her body fell towards the crowd, she heard a cry—a roar, more like.

This time, the world seemed to freeze on its axis.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the shock, the terror of her falling that sobered her for a few seconds. But she somehow managed to pick him from the crowd as he cut through them like a knife, or maybe it was an animal, graceful in his urgency to protect, to catch her as she fell. His long, golden hair flapped behind him, his eyes startlingly green, like the dewy leaves of spring, like the rarest jade, like raw emeralds, his mouth open in a roar of defiance. As dozens of arms and hands raised to break her fall, she thought how much like a lion he looked. Her lion.

_My lion._

Then the world turned black and the next thing she knew, Jon was pulling her hand down his pants.

Brienne stood in front of Renly’s door, wondering if she should knock but then what? “Hey, Renly,” she imagined herself saying, “Would you happen to know this neighbor of yours, golden hair, gorgeous green eyes, gorgeous every inch of him?” He would think her nuts. And she hated to interrupt what might be happening in the apartment now. Stannis was probably having that meeting with Bronn now, and Jaime Lannister.

Jaime Lannister who got hit by her shoe.

Jaime Lannister with a black eye, according to Bronn.

Brienne’s hands flew to her mouth. The man from the elevator had a black eye.

_“No,”_ she gasped, and started pounding the elevator button with her fist.

 

In the lobby, Jaime was all but yelling at the elevators to hurry and take him. They were all in use. What was the purpose of three elevators if none of them were serving him _right now_? He wanted to roar, to growl, scream, and punch walls.

The doorman had shaken his head and frowned at first when Jaime asked him about an extremely tall blonde with short blond hair. “More like straw blond, really short,” he said.

“I’m sorry sir, but I can’t give out any information about our tenants.”

“So she lives here?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“She visits? Who?”

“Sir, I told you—“

“It is pertinent I find her,” Jaime said smoothly, pressing a twenty-dragon note in his palm, “as I have acquired a personal property of hers. I mean her no harm. My name’s Jaime Lannister.”

“Jaime Lannister? Really?” The man told him, disbelieving. He looked at Jaime from head to toe and nodded. “Well, you look like a Lannister.”

“I’m a guest of Stannis Baratheon.”

“The brother of Sir Renly?”

Jaime racked his head. It had been years since he’d encountered any of the Baratheon brothers, save for Robert. There were three of them. He recalled a little boy with dark hair, who was always smiling at him as he followed Jaime and Tyrion around during their visit to Dragonstone many years ago. Tywin had dispatched them on a tour of vineyards as he was looking in getting into the wine business.

“Yes. Uh, Renly. The youngest?”

“Sir Renly isn’t too happy that his brother’s at the apartment unannounced. But it’s the family apartment if I’m not mistaken, not solely Sir Renly’s. Describe to me again the woman you seek.”

Jaime raised his eyebrow at the suddenly archaic language but did as he was told anyway. “Her hair is blond, and cut short, really short. It’s straw-colored, sticks out on its end. She’s very, very tall. I can’t tell if she’s taller than me or I’m taller. She has on this ridiculous t-shirt with a bear in front.” He paused and his voice softened. “Blue eyes. The most astonishing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Sapphires will weep at the sight of her eyes.”

The doorman was looking at him strangely and Jaime, flushing, cleared his throat. He was never poetic. 

“That’s Miss Tarth. Miss Brienne Tarth.”

“Brienne,” Jaime tasted her name. It felt tender and rough in his tongue. _A most intriguing combination._

“She’s visiting Sir Renly and she hasn’t left yet.”

“She’s _there_? In the apartment?” Jaime almost shouted.

He ran back to the lobby and here he was right now, a slave to the whims of the elevator gods.

“I will tear you apart,” he vowed, glaring at the closed doors. "If you don't bring me to where she is right now." 

One of them sprang open.

 

Since realizing that it was Jaime Lannister she’d made drunken moon eyes with last night, Brienne was panicked. It didn’t help that the elevators were not being their usual fast, efficient selves. Spooked that somebody might catch her hovering in the hallway, she found the fire escape and decided to take the stairs all the way to the lobby.

It had seemed a good idea to take the stairs, but when she reached the eighth floor, Brienne was not feeling too good. Cold sweat sheened her forehead and neck and her heart would bound from its cavity in her chest to her mouth then back. She wasn’t even moving that fast, she thought, forcing her legs to slow down as she descended the stairs. She must be having an anxiety attack.

That explained the extra kick in her heart, her woozy head, her cold, sweaty palms. Brienne groaned and sank on her ass on a step, pushing her head between her legs. She was tempted to call Renly but it embarrassed her to be seen like this. Nope, she would soldier through the discomfort alone. 

Her deep, measured breathing filled the empty, silent stairwell. Brienne closed her eyes, hoping to see blackness but instead she saw emeralds looking at her, seeing her. Was it only this morning that she’d wished to be not looked at like a freak, for someone to see her as human and not as a non-being? Morning felt like eons ago.

It hurt her head thinking all the happened, all that this day so far had given her. And it was only early afternoon. She dreaded the remaining hours of the day as she had a strong feeling it was far from done with her.

She had no idea how long she sat there, pleading with her heart to stop beating so fast, pleading with her mind to stop haunting her with images of green eyes. On and on her thoughts revolved around them, like a prayer.

Brienne raised her head, blinking. She took a deep breath then slowly peeled herself off the step. She continued going down at a more sedate pace.

She never thought air could never be so fresh as she flung the door open and found herself in the lobby. She breathed it in, closing her eyes as she took in the scent of detergent, wood, perfume, fresh flowers, before moving forward.

She nodded at George as she exited the building. He smiled back at her then frowned. “Miss Brienne, are you alright? You seem very pale,” he said.

Brienne blushed. She knew she looked more bedraggled than usual. She carried her denim jacket slung over an arm, so she was only wearing her gray t-shirt with the giant grizzly bear in front. Some areas of the shirt were dark with sweat. Though she still felt too warm, she began to put her jacket back on.

“I’m alright, George, thank you for asking. Have a good day,” Brienne fluttered her fingers at him but he called her back. She turned and found George walking toward her.

“I had a very interesting conversation about you with Mr. Jaime Lannister," he huffed. He was not used to having to move so quickly but Miss Tarth's strides were twice the length of his. 

Brienne’s eyebrow wanted to leap to her hairline so she frowned. “Jaime Lannister? I’m sorry, did you just say _Jaime Lannister_?”

“He was asking me about you. Well, he didn’t know you,” George said, two bright red spots coloring his cheeks. “I didn’t tell him anything, though. The description he gave me fits you. Not a lot of tall, blond lasses such as yourself.”

“Why is he asking you about me?”

“He mentioned something about acquiring a property of yours and wanting to return it. He didn’t say what.”

“I’ve no idea what could he possibly have that’s mine—“ Brienne began to say until she realized what it was. “Oh. He has it. _Oh_.”

“So you do know what he’s talking about?” George inquired, noting the pink that quickly spread all over her face and neck. 

“Yes. It’s mine.”

“He thinks you live here. I told him I don’t give out personal information about residents.”

“Thank you, George. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Tarth. Now you be careful. Jaime Lannister is one of those smooth guys. You’re too nice a girl to be involved with someone like that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm as impatient as you are but hey, they're getting closer and closer!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Addam POV.  
> Ronnet Connington appears.

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing.

 

From the moment Jaime arrived at the football field of King’s Landing University with Bronn and Stannis Baratheon trailing behind him, he was a man not to be messed with. Gone was the easygoing expression, in its place a harsh mask that came with sharp green eyes and one order roared after another, his displeasure evident, and from the way he was carrying on, little cared if by the end of the day the football team and everyone else involved in the photo shoot wanted him dead.

As Jaime was once again yelling at the players to keep on playing and ignore the fucking camera, Addam went to Bronn. Bronn stood with his hands in his pockets and looked as if he was the only one enjoying the day.

“What’s happened to Lannister?” 

“Got his knickers in a twist over a woman,” Bronn answered.

This was news. “He’s dating? When did that happen?”

“No, you idiot, he’s not dating her. He saw her last night at the bar. Remember that blond kicking and singing like she was crazed? Turns out our resident pretty boy likes his women drunk and, uh, well, unfeminine.”

Addam frowned. He did remember singing along while a blond led the crowd to The Bear And The Maiden Fair. He wasn’t close enough to see if the blond was a woman, although the voice wasn’t as deep as a man’s although it wasn’t as high-pitched as a woman’s, either. Got to be a woman, he thought last night, but very unsure.

“Stannis’ brother Renly is friends with her. Jaime was mighty upset, practically busted the door open when he got to the apartment. He was red-faced and demanding why we let her leave and we couldn’t figure out right away what he meant until he lunged for Renly. It wasn’t the easiest prying those two apart.” 

“Well, he knows who she is now. Why does he have to see her right away?”

“Who knows.”

Addam watched as Jaime flung off his suit jacket and shoved the sleeves of his shirt angrily. Through the megaphone, he started shouting more orders. At one point, the megaphone wailed and everyone in the field and around it gasped and pushed their fingers in their ears.

“Pussies, all of you,” Jaime growled, making the megaphone whine even louder. “Now do as I say!” 

“This is going to be a disaster,” Bronn complained to Addam.

“Don’t sit this out yet,” Addam said, nodding as Jaime put the megaphone on the ground and stormed towards the football players. Though they were younger, more muscular, and some of them taller, it was Jaime who loomed over them like a giant. He started moving one player to the other side and then another.

“Stay there,” he commanded. 

“When Jaime sets his mind to get something done, no matter what’s going on, it will be done,” Addam told Bronn. “Trust me on that. Jaime Lannister hasn’t failed yet.”

Bronn crossed his arms and continue watching. “It’s only money, after all.”

Addam grinned. “Only our future. But seriously, I’ll always bet on Lannister. You should too.”

“Who says I don’t?” 

 

Rather than going home as she had intended after leaving Renly’s building, Brienne found herself heading back to the library. Might as well. Her thoughts were screaming with one permutation of a problem after another of Jaime Lannister knowing who she was and what he could possibly want from her. The worst-case scenario was he intended to sue her for the accident she’d caused his beautiful face. She tried filling in a more optimistic scenario but came up with nothing. She was no fool. Nothing good came out with dealing with the likes of Jaime Lannister. George was right, after all. The guy was too smooth and she wasn’t going to survive somebody like him. 

So she threw herself to work, locking herself in a study carrel and going over the stack of books she’d been collecting from shelves in the last hour. She had a paper to finish for Tyrell’s class and another to begin for Stark. Research had a way of making you forget everything else and she needed that in large doses right now.

For Tyrell’s class, she was writing a paper on the consequences of courtly love on female agency during medieval Westeros. Her thesis was that the idealization of women by men had not only put them on a pedestal but compromised what little chance they had to make their own choices in life. She intended to prove that courtly love in medieval Westeros, long believed to be romantic, was actually a way societal move by men to subjugate women. 

Her paper for Stark’s class was an offshoot, somewhat, of what she was doing for Tyrell. She was doing an analysis of The Little Wolf-Girl of Winterfell, a popular fairy tale that was often taught as story of adventure and cunning but in Brienne’s reading, was a cautionary tale against individuality. The story ended with the girl transforming into a direwolf and living the rest of her days in the forest. Brienne interpreted that as society viewing women who went against expectations as animals gone wild, and the only place befitting such lawless women was the lawless forest. 

Brienne had her head bowed over a pad where she was rapidly writing notes with one hand while the other was poised above the keyboard of her laptop when a soft knock rapped at the door of the carrel. Too focused on work, she didn’t hear it open until a throat was being cleared behind her. Frowning, she turned, rolled her eyes and went back to writing.

“I’m busy, Jon,” she murmured, removing her hand from the laptop to mark a text on one of the books before her with her finger.

“How long have you been here?” Jon asked, looking over her shoulder. He whistled. “Interesting interpretation. I’m doing a similar thing too—“ when Brienne scowled at him, he laughed—“No, I’m not using the same text as you are. I’m doing a descriptive analysis of accounts by Night’s Watch then a paper on the Night’s King for Professor Stark.”

“What, you’re going to prove he’s a Stark?” Brienne muttered, still writing.

“Nah. I’m not that boring. I’m developing an idea where the Night’s King and his army of wights are not as malevolent as tradition believes. I can smell the controversy,” Jon said happily, rubbing his palms together.

“Seems to me like you’re standing and talking rather than developing your paper.”

“I need a break, Tarth. My neck hurts. My back hurts. I figured, since I didn’t ask permission before, maybe now, I can ask you to touch me. Hands like yours are made to rub and soothe.” 

“If that’s an innuendo I’ve heard it before.”

“Well, not from me.”

“Doesn’t make it any different.”

“Hey, Tarth. You work too hard. Come on. I took a chance coming in here just because I saw your light under the door. Don’t tell me you don’t want some coffee and pastries yourself? You eat more than I do. . .and it certainly doesn’t show.’” Jon quickly added when Brienne narrowed her eyes at him.

“That’s the best way to get a girl to eat with you. Tell her she’s fat.”

“You’re not fat. I only said you eat as much as I do.”

“You shovel garbage. I still remember how to use silver, you know.”

“Oh, come on Brienne,” Jon pleaded. Then he strode to the small window and turned the blinds. “Look at that. It’s a gorgeous fall afternoon. We’re the only losers indoors. Come on, sweetheart. Get your jacket. If you join me, I’ll not only you treat you to coffee and melt-in-your-mouth brownies, I’ll also give you the Jon Snow Special.” He wagged his eyebrows at her.

“How about I get two brownies and you never mention to me again the Jon Snow Special, whatever it is?”

“Done.” 

 

As Jon and Brienne were getting ready t leave the library, Jaime was having Stannis take individual shots of the players. The group photos in action were done. Stannis told him he had more than enough that Jaime could use. But more than enough wasn’t sufficient. There had to be a lot more. Posed shots were no-no, he had never considered it and it just wouldn’t work with what he had in mind. Action shots. That’s what drew the eye and made it linger on an image, trying to discern what was happening in the shot.

Now standing before the camera was the quarterback, Ronnet Connington. He had his helmet off now, showing his damp red hair was almost as dark as his jersey. He wasn’t a handsome kid but there was a sternness in his face that commanded respect and awe. Jaime didn’t like him at all, though he was only a kid. There was something pompous and arrogant about him that made Jaime’s hackles rise in warning. 

Stannis trained his camera on the boy and fired a few test shots. “What do you want to do with him?”

“Fucking have no idea,” Jaime muttered, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “What do quarterbacks do aside from score?”

“Maybe he can kick,” Bronn suggested. “Or throw the ball.”

“Come on, man, I don’t have all day,” Ronnet called out to them. “I can take off my shirt, if you want.”

“No, we don’t want,” Addam snapped. “Jaime? What do you want to do with this kid?”

“Something about him makes me want to hit him,” Jaime answered. “But he doesn’t have much going for his looks and I’m just going to look needlessly cruel although,” he added, considering, “I quite like that.”

“Lannister, be serious, will you?” Addam groaned.

Jaime sighed loudly. “Connington—“

“Red.”

“What?”

“Call me Red. It’s my nickname.”

“Fine. Red. Could you pretend you’re about to throw the ball, say, like you just spotted a chance for a touchdown or whatever it is it’s called.”

“Sure thing.” 

And Ronnet pulled his arm back.

“Aren’t you supposed to bend your leg or something?” Bronn called out.

“He’s not playing baseball, idiot,” Addam said.

“Sorry!” Bronn shouted.

Stannis clicked the camera then showed the photos to Jaime on the screen. “Looks stiff.”

“Ronnet—“ Jaime began.

“Red.”

“Pretend like you’re about to kick the ball.”

“No problem.”

But Ronnet ended up kicking the ball hard. For real.

As the football flew in the air, Jon and Brienne were walking along the football field chatting enthusiastically over their papers’ topics. Brienne was facing away the field as she spoke while Jon nodding, looking straight ahead and contributing a comment or two every now and then. 

“Fuck, kid, I told you to pretend to kick!” An angry voice shouted.

Jon turned and saw the football heading right toward them. “Brienne, watch out!” 

Brienne, doing only what she was told, turned to look behind her and the football smashed right onto her face. It knocked her hard to the ground, sending her backpack and its contents flying and scattering. 

“Brienne?” Jon cried out, kneeling over her. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Jaime turned around when he heard that name. He saw a dark-haired man with messy hair kneeling over a sprawled figure on the grass, calling, “Brienne, Brienne, hey, wake up!” 

His eyes fell on the straw blond hair on the grass. Jaime felt his heart drop and he whirled to yell at Ronnet Connington, who was laughing and getting clapped on the back by his teammates. 

Jaime saw red, pulled his arm back, and leaped like a lion to a kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Brienne is catching up to Jaime's injuries!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end.  
> Not yet.

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing. 

 

 

“Well, your pupils are reacting to the light,” said the doctor on duty as she aimed a penlight into Brienne’s eyes. She watched as the blue overwhelmed the large black pupils until they shrank to normal size. “The headache is normal although I wouldn’t recommend sleeping right away. And you do feel sleepy, I can tell.”

Brienne shrugged. “I can drink coffee.” 

“You most certainly will not,” the doctor said in a voice that was authoritative and firm. She was clearly used to being followed with no questions asked. . “I can give you pills for the pain, but I advise you to wait at least four hours before sleeping. And when you do, just to be on the cautious side, you have to wake up every two hours.” 

“I can set the alarm on my phone.”

“And you might not wake up. The pills are quite strong. ” The doctor’s clear green eyes looked at Jon. “Can you watch over her?” 

“Done,” Jon said solemnly. 

The doctor smiled. “Good. Now let me just write you a prescription and then you can go home.” 

The doctor shut the curtain behind her. As soon as Brienne was sure she was out of the earshot, she winked at Jon, “I’m impressed. Not once did you attempt to hit on her. Your concern is really touching.” 

“Of course I’m concerned,” Jon said, frowning. “You didn’t see how hard that ball hit you.”

“Yes. I only felt it. That’s not as good, I heard.” 

“Oh, shut up, Tarth. You scared me there, you know. You didn’t regain consciousness right away and when I started shouting for help there was a riot on the football field. Some photo shoot gone to Seven Hells.”

“Help did arrive,” Brienne reminded him. Jon wouldn’t let her stand when she had finally regained consciousness so she just sat on the grass, her head hurting almost as bad as when she was hungover. She watched dully as campus police dispersed the fight in the football field, and Dr. Tyrion Lannister yelling at the crew doing the photo shoot. Emergency services arrived soon after, taking the injured, which included Brienne, to nearby King’s Landing General Hospital. She didn’t want to go to the hospital but Jon mentioned to one of the medical respondents that her head hurt. “Sorry, miss, but you’ll have to be examined,” and Brienne, to her humiliation, was strapped on a stretcher.

“Yeah, thank goodness. You’re a good friend, Tarth, but I think I’d break my back this time if I had to carry you all the way to a cab,” Jon told her, grinning. 

“Jerk. This wouldn’t have happened if I just stayed in the library.” 

“Well. I do owe you two brownies.” 

“You know, my doctor’s pretty cute. Sure you’re not interested in her?”

“She’s gorgeous but did you see her name? She’s Cersei Lannister.” 

Brienne raised her eyebrow. “Lannister?”

“Yeah. Rich. She seems nice but rich only go with rich. Unless, of course, she has a thing for rough, self-made men. But I don’t think she’s interested in me either. Probably the only woman who’s never looked at me as if she wanted to pour melted chocolate on my glorious body and lick it all off slowly.” 

“I’ve never looked at you like that.” 

“No. But you’re the only one who looks at me like you'd make me eat dirt if I just think of wronging you.”

Brienne smiled. She licked her lips. “Wow. I’m so thirsty.” 

“I’ll get you water.” 

“No, there’s no need, I’m fine,” Brienne said, getting to her feet. “Besides, I should walk.”

“But your head—“

“Hurts, but my balance seems okay. Would you mind staying here and waiting for the prescription?”

“Brienne, I can get you water.” 

“And I can walk to get myself water. Thank you. I’m fine,” Brienne kissed him on the cheek and left. 

 

 

“Explain to me again how you grown men got involved in a schoolyard fight,” Cersei Lannister told the grim-faced foursome. As she spoke, she was writing something on her pad.

Sitting together on the bed were Bronn, Jaime, Addam and Stannis. They were rumpled and dirty, each with his own share of cuts and bruises. The smell of sweat and testosterone was overwhelming. Cersei wrinkled her nose and though she should give them privacy, she swept open the curtain separating her section from other wards.

“It wasn’t a schoolyard,” Jaime grumbled. “Football players are assholes.” 

“So our dear brother told me,” Cersei said. Tyrion rarely ranted and she had to keep herself from laughing when he told her about the catastrophe Jaime had left behind. “Tyrion isn’t pleased. He’s placating the athletics department, the alumni, campus police and last I heard, the local news has picked it up.”

Bronn shrugged. “Just as long as they mention LSM Creatives.” 

“Look, Cersei, I don’t think any of us are dying. Can we go?” Jaime said. 

“None of you are, but you have cuts, open wounds. Who knows where those football players hands have been. Or how clean the field is. There might be infection. At least let me clean it, I’ll be quick.” Cersei finished writing on her pad. “Just give me a sec to hand this prescription to a patient. Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone. Or I'll have all your heads.”

She left them without a backward glance ."I forget how pleasant your sister is," Stannis commented wryly. "Remind me again why my brother was nagging me day and night to help him get on her good side." “I’m thirsty,” Jaime said, licking his lips.

“I’m hungry,” Addam told him. 

“I’m starving. No one’s offered me anything since I landed,” Stannis complained. 

“We’ll take you out to a nice dinner after this, my friend, but for now, if you'll excuse me. I’ll go hunt us some water,” Jaime said, standing up.

"I'll have scotch if you can find it," Bronn called after him. "Should I be the one to mention that we still have one photo shoot to do and the presentation's tomorrow?" Addam said. 

 

 

Brienne realized too late she didn’t have any money on her. Longingly, she stared at the shiny display of drink in the vending machine, all promising to be ice-cold and soothing. She sighed and settled for the drinking fountain. 

Her headache seemed to be improving but yes, all she wanted to do was get in bed and pull the sheets over her head. At least she was almost done at the hospital. Dr. Lannister did advise not to sleep yet she will be home soon, she can shower, wear clean clothes. Her shirt was sticky with sweat and smelled of dirt and grass. A nice hot shower would also be heaven for her shoulders and back, which had borne the weight of this long day. 

She bent deep towards the fountain and opened her mouth. She pressed the button behind the spout and a thick curve of water fell into her mouth. She drank it, swallowing hard. It wasn’t as cold as she would like it to be but it did its job in relieving the dryness in her throat and mouth. She was conscious about her breath because it tasted like dry grass and it freaked her out thinking she must have swallowed some when she fell to the ground. 

Satisfied, she straightened up and turned. 

And collided into a green stare so brilliant.

The man standing right before her had grass and dirt clinging to his golden mane. Under his emerald stare were bruises and  a cut on his right cheek. His shirt was torn and stained. She smelled his sweat, an earthy fragrance with the faintest hint of soap. He looked like a lion who had gone into battle. Whether he had conquered or not, it mattered little, especially since right this moment,  all Brienne knew was her mouth was suddenly as arid as the desert of Dorne and it was taking all her willpower not to put out her hands and touch him, to check if he was real, to check if his shoulders were really that broad under his shirt, if the muscles where his shirt clung and pressed were hard ridges. 

“You,” was all she could say, her voice barely above a whisper.

His smile was a slow quirk of his slender lips. “Me.”

"The elevator."

"The bar."

"That."

"Yes. _That."_

Brienne jumped when the fingers of his hand brushed against hers. Jaime thought he could watch forever seeing her cheeks blossom to Lannister red.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still too soft, for his ears only. Jaime didn’t mind. If possible, he’d have her speak to him in this voice always, soft, just for him, only for him. 

“I’m not—I’m not disgusted. My hands are dirty too, see. I was startled.” And she showed him her palms. They were wide and stained with dirt and ink. Jaime’s eyes shone as he imagined brushing his lips on every line and mark there. Instead, he told her, his voice also barely above a whisper, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

Brienne bit her lip and she looked at the bruise under his eye. “I’m so sorry about last night. Please, you have to know, that wasn’t me. I don’t drink. Last night was the first night I got drunk—“ 

“Hush,” and he placed his dirt-crusted fingers on her lips. He should remove them but her lips felt so warm and soft.

Brienne thought she could taste his skin. And oh gods, she wanted to open her mouth and lick his fingers. 

“I know you’re mad at me,” she whispered, though his fingers were still on her. She had to fight the urge to stick her tongue out, just a little, just for a tiny flick of a taste. 

He looked puzzled. “Why would I be mad at you? I don’t know you. Not yet, anyway.” 

And he removed his hand. Brienne had never been so sorry. “You’ve been looking for me.”

“Brienne Tarth.” He said her name as if it was the sweetest thing.

Brienne could feel her heart picking up its familiar, rapid kick. Now she knew it. It was no anxiety attack.

“Jaime Lannister.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why. . .why? Why are you looking for me? What do you want from me?” 

“Seems I have something of yours.” 

"My shoe.”

Jaime's smile widened. He had deep, long dimples. Brienne was unable to tear her eyes away from him. She couldn't stop looking at him. She wanted to see all of him. Wanted to know what he'd let her know, and maybe some things he hadn't though to let anyone know. She stared at him, into eyes as bright as emeralds, as soft as dew drop on leaves, eyes as piercing as that of an exotic cat's. A shift went through her, so subtle yet felt so deeply. It was like the ground had tilted under her feet and she was standing on air, slowly spinning. Her body felt light, like she did last night as she gave herself to one mad turn after another until she lost her footing and began to fall. That had happened slowly, in stages. But this, this felt faster and slower at the same time. It made no sense to describe it this way but it was all she had. It was all the words the world had for the sudden fullness in her chest and the flutter in her heart. 

“Among other things, Brienne.”  He said her name like a prayer. 

“I-I don’t understand.”  Did I lose some other item of clothing? Oh the Seven, if you are kind, kill me now. 

“Not yet. But you will.”  And he nodded, as if confirming something. Brienne was confused and wanted to ask what he meant when he continued, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I saw what happened.” His voice was raised to a normal, conversational level.

Brienne felt herself pulled from a cloud she didn’t know had enshrouded them. It was disorienting. She stumbled and Jaime’s arms quickly went around her waist. His breath gusted right into her lips. Her eyes fell on his lips. _His body was so hard_. 

“I’m fine. There’s no need to hold me,” she said. She was dirty and stank. At least he still smelled a little bit of soap. 

 He looked at her, as if considering her request. “As the lady wishes,” he said finally, letting go. He brushed his hands on her shoulder, as if to free it from the dirt that clung. 

“I’m no lady, Mr. Lannister.” 

He shook his head. “No. Jaime. My name’s Jaime.” 

“Okay. Jaime.” 

He smiled. “I like how you say my name. I hope I’m around when you say it some more.” 

Brienne shrugged. “Well, we might right into each other again, someday.”

“Oh, it won’t be that long, I assure you. Um, would you mind? I’m parched. I’m in need of water.”

Brienne stepped aside, blushing, because here she was with thoughts and desires coming out of nowhere and hitting her hard in the gut, and all Jaime Lannister wanted was water. She turned to leave but his hand clasped around hers. 

“I hope you’ll wait. We both got conked on the head. Not too wise to be walking around alone, is it?” 

“I suppose,” Brienne said but Jaime was already bent and drinking.

Later, she would tell herself that he just happened to be in the right position to show off his ass. She wasn’t leering. She just happened to look down and saw how taut his pants stretched across the expanse of his narrow, firm ass. No flesh-and-blood woman would not _not_ take notice. If the Maiden herself were around, she’d not only give it a good, hard look. She would lick her lips too.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Jaime angst, until Brienne comes running.
> 
> Also, Stannis schools the men on Asshai women.

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing. 

One week later  
It would go down in the history of LSM Creatives that not only did Jaime, Bronn and Addam in one day, manage to schedule and actually conduct two photo shoots that were near-disasters and could have spelled the end of their company, the following day, they made the pitch, each of them looking more banged-up than the other, and got an enthusiastic and firm commitment by no less than Brynden Rivers himself that the multi-million-dragon Valyrian luxury beer account was theirs. Jaime, Bronn and Addam barely managed to control their emotions before they were shouting, hugging, and high-fiving each other as the elevator took them back to the lobby of the Valyrian headquarters. 

As promised to Stannis, they took him out for a steak dinner at Wyman Manderly’s. The blonde, blue-eyed waitress who had tried to snare Jaime first was all about mega-watt smiles to their companion. After she finished pouring them a glass of champagne, Stannis, looking after her ass, said, “Gods, it’s good to be back in Westeros. The women actually smell like women and seem normal for a change.”

“I would think the women of Asshai are exciting,” Jaime remarked.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, they are,” Stannis gestured that they lean close and he dropped his voice. “Asshai women’s bodies do things you never thought the human body can do. Trust my word on it. It’s a sight you’ll never forget. But after a while, it gets old. You just want normal. You just want a cunt that will love your cock instead of impressing you what other things it can take in or spit out.”

Jaime coughed, swallowing the champagne wrong. Addam patted him on the shoulder while Bronn laughed. “And here I thought Dornish women were something else.”

“The Dornish will kill you with their thighs but no, they’re nothing like the women of Asshai,” Stannis said.

Jaime, whose lungs were beginning to clear, was suddenly assaulted by the image of a blond with the most astonishing blue eyes straddling him, squeezing him hard with her thighs. The red in his cheeks were as clear as stoplights. 

Bronn removed the flute from him. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said.

“Yes. I think so too.”

Though Jaime took part in the conversation, making a comment here, inserting a laugh there, calling somebody a cunt or a fuck, he wasn’t entirely there. He was an uneasy, not because he was anxious or worried about anything. 

He had been haunted by those sapphire eyes ever since seeing them up close.

They seemed so wrong on her face. Her face, with skin as pale as moonlight from a distance but when he was standing right in front of her, he saw that she was heavily freckled. He saw those splotches on her neck and on what little part of her chest was exposed by the collar of her ridiculous bear t-shirt. When she blushed, and Gods, did she blush, her freckles became clearer, redder. It did not help what little looks she had—and he wouldn’t even think she even had a semblance of looks if not for those eyes.

They were round, very round, and fanned with thick blond eyelashes. It was true, those eyes had stolen all the light from the sapphires in the world. Jaime had never seen anything like it and he’d felt a punch to his gut not unlike the heavy fist of that damned quarterback’s. Those eyes didn’t just look at him, they saw him. For the first time in his life, Jaime felt that he wasn’t just Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin, lion of Lannister, more wealth than all the kingdoms in the world combined, asshole extraordinaire. When he found himself under the extraordinary stare of Brienne Tarth, he believed, hoped, he was more, that he would find a way to be the man she saw. It scared him, truth to be told. For the first time in his life, somebody expected more from him.

Her eyes didn’t save her from her plain features: the crooked nose that looked to have been broken at least once, the mouth that was too large and lips too thick but how soft they were. He had expected them to feel rough—and the corners of her lips were—but overall, they were soft. He wanted to know what it would be like to nibble on those lips, if her mouth would be pliant when kissed.

But that was unlikely. Brienne Tarth did have soft lips—his fingers still remembered—but that was the only thing soft about her. She looked solid and compact even with dried grass and dirt on her hair and cheek. Her ridiculous t-shirt didn’t hide the strength in her broad shoulders nor the toned arms. Her hands appeared to be larger than his, and when he held her hand as they walked back to their respective wards, he discovered her palms were rough, her fingers callused. It was a mistake to think her delicate, just because of her black shoe—the black shoe that was still on his nightstand. 

He didn’t see her again after she was discharged. Much as he liked to think she had asked about him like he did, he didn’t bet on it. As strong as she was, there was a shyness, an uncertainty in her that could never be masked by the strength in her body, the plainness of her face. Though it would be interesting to see how she would be asking around about him. Why wouldn’t she? He was good-looking and a one hell of a catch. It rankled him that there was a possibility Brienne didn’t quite agree.

Two hours later, the men parted ways. Jaime’s apartment was three blocks away from the restaurant so he just walked there earlier. Now full from dinner, he needed to walk to bring it down.

Winter’s bite was just around the corner, he felt it in the deepening chill of the night, banishing the heat that had enclosed him while in the restaurant. Jaime, whose coat hung open, decided to tie it closed. 

He was one block from his apartment when he saw a familiar figure ahead of him. Speak of the devil. She was still too far away to see him but he saw her—the messy blond hair that turned almost as white as snow under the streetlight she jogged past, the red face. She wore a gray hoodie that fit close to her body, black pants and navy blue trainers. Jaime decided to wait for her on his side of the street. 

She was several feet away from him when recognition had her faltering. Jaime waited until she slowed to a walk, her breath coming out in white puffs, her face redder up close. Sweat poured in rivulets from her temples, the tip of her nose. He smelled her sweat and very faint—what was it—vanilla? Yes, vanilla. 

She was so unattractive, so unlike the wild dancing thing so alive and seemed light itself that night at Ye Old Gods yet Jaime was startled to feel his cock stir. Good thing he had tied his coat closed, he thought as she stopped in front of him. Her eyes looked bluer than ever.

“Jaime,” she said. “Hello.”

When she wasn’t wearing unflattering tops, her figure looked fine. She hardly had any breasts or waistline but her torso looked long. Her narrow, black track pants emphasized her wide hips, thick but firm thighs and long, muscular legs that Jaime knew tapered to graceful ankles. They were hidden by her trainers, unfortunately. But, he had to admit, she sounded positively sexy, a bit out breath as she was, when she said his name.

“So you run at night,” he told her. “It’s good to see you, Brienne.”

“Sometimes. Mostly I work out at the college gym.”

“What prompted tonight’s change?”

Her smile was crooked but its warmth jumped to her eyes. “I’ve been cooped up in the library all day. Needed fresh air.”

“All day. Really?” He teased.

She blushed. “A better part of the afternoon.” 

“Ah. I knew it. You can’t lie.”

“Yeah. Renly and Jon told me so.”

` The two men in her life, Jaime remembered.

“Um, are you going out or something? Because I don’t want to keep you.”

“Off to run somewhere so soon, is that it? What, you won’t let me keep you, even for just a few minutes?”

“You look so nice,” Brienne was so earnest Jaime knew she meant every word. He felt his heart catch. “I’m sure you can’t wait for your date to see you.”

“Actually, I’m just coming home from one.”

“Oh.” Brienne looked at her shoes. “You are.”

“If you call being out with Bronn, Addam and Stannis a date. Do you know them?”

“I’ve met Bronn and Stannis. Not Addam.”

“Next time I’ll introduce you.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope if it happens, I have something a lot nicer than my sweaty workout gear.”

Jaime grinned. “And here I thought you were making a fashion statement.”

The warmth disappeared from Brienne’s eyes instantly. Frowning, she said, “Goobye, Jaime.”

What just happened? Jaime asked himself as Brienne took off running without another glance at him.

“Hey Brienne, wait!” he called, walking quickly. She ignored him and crossed the street. Cursing under his breath, Jaime ran after her, not the easiest thing in Oxfords. 

“Brienne stop! Come on, my shoes!”

Brienne stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes were dark when he finally reached her.

“All my life, men like you have done nothing but mock me. I’m used to it but I will not tolerate it when it’s done under the guise of friendship and especially when it’s during my run. My run is the only time during the day when I’m not thinking about school, home, my father, anything. It’s just me breathing and the road. If you’re ruining it because of some residual anger over what happened at the bar, again, I’m sorry. There. I’ve said my piece. If you wish me to grovel you’d better be prepared for a broken nose.”

“Hey, hold on a sec. I wasn’t mocking you! What in Seven Hells gave you that idea? Just because I said you’re making a fashion statement? It’s a fucking joke, Brienne.”

She was silent. But Jaime was on a roll now. He couldn’t believe that she’d just lumped him with other men.

“I don’t know what happened in your life to make you think I’m as terrible as the men you’ve come across. But I’m not in any way like them. I’m not. It’s unfair of you to judge me so quickly when you hardly know me. Why are you so quick to make assumptions about me? And what the hell do you mean by men like me? There’s no one like me, Brienne. Know it. Remember it. I’m sorry if you think I ruined your personal time but I’m even more sorry that you think I’m such a bastard that I’d expect you to grovel at me. I saw a friend, I thought to say hi. That’s all.” 

It would be best to leave now but Jaime’s feet failed him. So he stood there, breathing just as hard as Brienne, their breaths mingling into bigger puffs in the night.

“You’re right,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have thought the things I did. Not when I don’t know you.”

“Okay. So we’re fine, right? We’re okay?”

“We are.”

“What did those men do to you?”

“Jaime, please.” Brienne suddenly protested.

He’d crossed a line. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t know.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to sound so snappish.”

Jaime glared at her. “Don’t apologize for defending your secrets.”

“You were angry!”

“I was defensive.”

“Same difference.”

“No it’s not.”

Brienne threw up her arms. “Lannister, must you always have the last word?”

“What happened to Jaime?”

“What is it with you and my saying your name? I’m beginning to think it’s a kink of yours.”

“What? Since when is it kinky to want to be called by your name?”

Brienne was Lannister red. But she shot back, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s when you say things like, like when you say you like--how I say your name and you hope to be around when I do. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Don’t you think it’s going to be strange when you say my name and I’m nowhere around? I don’t know where you’re from, but here, that’s a sure spot at the Lysa Center.”

“Unbelievable. Weren’t we just apologizing to each other minutes ago?”

Jaime grinned. “You bring out my lion temper, Brienne.”

“It’s more along the lines of a kitten register,” she retorted.

“You find me kittenish?”

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth. Lannister, are you looking for another argument?”

“Argument? We’re bantering. And hmm, if not words, what can I put in your mouth?”

This time, Brienne got so red Jaime thought smoke would come out of her ears.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but bantering is usually funny. It doesn’t drive you to want to kill each other.” She ignored part of his earlier comment. 

“I don’t know what it is about me that makes you think the worst. I certainly don’t think that about you.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “See? Always the last word.” 

“You can’t match me in a war of words, Brienne.”

“War? I thought we were just bantering.”

“Oh, everything is war. But tell you what, are you willing to engage in peace negotiations?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Have you had dinner? No? Then I was thinking my place, after your run. You come for dinner.”

“But. . .you’ve already had dinner.”

“But not dessert. Don’t say no, Brienne. I’m one hell of a good cook.”

“I’m sure you are but I have things to do—“

“What things? For school? You said you just came from the library.”

Jaime saw that she was cornered. His smile wide and triumphant, he said, “So that’s it then. I’ll expect you in one hour. Now give me your phone so I can write my address there and number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing about these two. I thought my story will end with the two of them meeting but reading what I first wrote, I felt myself a little shortchanged. And I'm writing the story! This is why the previous chapter isn't the end. These two have some issues to work out. It won't be love at first sight but Jaime and Brienne definitely know something's up. This is what I want to explore in a couple of more chapters, and I think I've hinted at it quite a bit here and in previous chapters. When they confront it, only then will they really see each other and begin to fall in love. That, I think is the ending this story deserves.
> 
>  
> 
> Lastly: Nyanyanyanyanya. Jaime has a boner! Jaime has a boner!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E-mails then dinner at Chez Jaime's. Sort of. First course is angst.  
> This chapter is a bit longer than usual. Please bear with me. :-)

All characters by George RR Martin.

I know nothing and own nothing.

 

8:30 p.m. From: briennetheblue@wmail.com 

To: renlythestag@wmail.com, jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

Subject: HELP! Gentlemen, I have an emergency situation. Jaime Lannister has asked me to dinner to his place. Arrogant ass that he is, he’s given me less than an hour to prepare. This is already a problem to a woman who has a closetful of clothes. As you remember from last week, I have a lovely collection of track suits and what you, Renly, has nicely called “dump and lump wear.” 

I need help. I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

B. 

 

8:35 p.m. 

From: jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

To: briennetheblue@gmail.com, renlythestag@wmail.com

Subject: Re: HELP! 

Sweetheart, just show up in his place wearing a trench coat and nothing else. Trust me. Always works. 

Want to come to my place and test it? 

Your J-Man

 

8:38 p.m.

From: renlythestag@wmail.com

To: briennetheblue@wmail.com, jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

Subject: Re: Re: HELP!

Jon, as usual, you know nothing. Sigh.

Brienne, I noticed you have a couple of blouses like the blue one you wore to the bar. That should be alright. Don’t forget to wear a bra for your little puppies. Just because they don’t sag doesn’t mean they don’t need support! If you have skinny jeans, then you’re good to go. But the shoes, oh—you would have other kinds aside from trainers and sneakers? Please say you do or gods, even I can’t get the shops to open so you can panic buy some nice flats. 

Kisses, Renly 

 

8:53 p.m. 

From: briennetheblue@wmail.com 

To: renlythestag@wmail.com, jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: HELP! 

Thank you, Renly. That’s actually helpful. 

Jon, get your head out of your pants and actually help me. This is serious. I’M FREAKING OUT! 

Renly, just say boobs or tits. 

 

9:OO p.m. 

From: renlythestag@wmail.com 

To: briennetheblue@wmail.com, jon_snow_knoweverything@wmail.com

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: HELP! 

Wait, I take back what I said earlier about Jon. I seem to remember a pair of very tall black boots in your closet. No, I’m not talking about the cowboy boots although remembering Jon getting those atrocities out and actually submitting them for my consideration made me remember your other boots. Pair it with a shirt, skinny jeans, and you’re okay. 

And a nice bra, Brienne, for your boobies. Do you have lipstick?

 

9:00 P.M.

From briennetheblue@wmail.com 

To: renlythestag@wmail.com, jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: HELP! 

Do I look like the sort of woman who owns lipstick? 

Sorry, I’m trying to get dressed. Boobies, really, Renly? 

 

9:02 p.m. 

From: jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

To: briennetheblue@wmail.com 

Subject: PICS PLS 

Show me what you’re wearing and I’ll tell you if it looks fine. Start with your underwear. 

Wow Your J-Man 

 

9:04 p.m. 

From: briennetheblue@wmail.com

To: jon_snow_knowseverything@wmail.com 

Subject: I’M GOING TO KILL YOU WITH A KNIFE WHEN I SEE YOU

Fuck you, Jon.

 

 

Jaime lived at Red Keep Avenue, an upper-crust section in the city of Westeros known for its gourmet delis and restaurants, shops so discreet and exclusive many of them required an appointment for one to come in, and browse, not even to buy. It was another world, as far as Brienne was concerned, who lived in Oldtown. Oldtown had a lot of high street shops as well as thrift stores, bakeries that sold everything from the softest breads to wine stores selling the rarest, Dornish spirits

It seemed in Oldtown, stores with clienteles as different as day and night could stand side-by-side. Red Keep Avenue made sure that only businesses catering to discerning clients were there. Brienne was glad to have consulted Renly and Jon (sort of, Jon) about what to wear to dinner at Jaime Lannister’s place. If left up to her, she would have gone in one of her old sweaters, faded jeans and one of her many Converse sneakers, both because it was comfortable and she felt like spiting him for basically ordering her to have dinner. She could have said no but something told her it wasn’t something Jaime heard that often, and didn’t like it very much. 

She almost laughed when she came upon his apartment building. Aptly named Empire, it was the tallest structure in the street. She had never seen a building done entirely in red, certainly not blood-red, and with the lights to all the more emphasize its might in the night. She thought it looked garish and just side-stepped being tacky. It stood like a king and looked down on the other buildings like one, she felt. 

Two doormen dressed in red-and-gold jackets and black pants stood in front of the building. Brienne would have passed between them but they stood too close together that even if she turned sideways she couldn’t barrel her way through them. 

“Excuse me,” she said. “

Good evening, miss, is there anything we can help you with?” The words were polite, the inflection was the exact opposite.

“I’m expected by Jaime Lannister.” 

The two men looked at each other then at her. Brienne narrowed her eyes. So her coat was three years old and there were faint scuff marks on her boots but fuck them if they were going to judge her simply because the threads used in her clothes were mass-produced rather than used exclusively for her. Her eyes darkened to a stormy blue as she read in their faces that old debate of whether she was a woman or man dressed in drag. 

“Is there a problem?” She asked one of the doormen. The first doorman had gone inside, suddenly. 

“No problem at all, miss.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes. J

ust then, the other doorman returned. He was all smiles, one hundred percent fake and affected. “Miss Tarth, Mr. Lannister is waiting for you. If you would follow me.” 

Sticking her chin up, Brienne walked toward the lobby. Whoa, this is a lobby? It was dark, done as it was in dark gray and chrome but she could tell, even though she didn’t have a discerning eye or the slightest interest in design, that the furniture were expensive and certainly not mass-produced, that the layout had a lazy, indulgent king in mind. Every plush furniture begged to be sat on and she wondered if anyone had sat on any of them because they looked unwrinkled, fresh from being unwrapped. 

The doorman turned to her and swept a gloved hand ahead of him. “Miss Tarth, you are to turn right at the corner to get to the elevators. Mr. Lannister’s is at the far end of the hallway. You’ll know it’s his by the way it’s marked. I wish you a good evening.”

He left before Brienne could ask what he meant about Jaime’s elevator. Did he have his own elevator? She followed the doorman’s instruction and soon found herself staring at the roaring, golden lion carved on the door. She pushed a button and it slid open quietly. Then, remembering, she dug out her phone, scrolled through Jaime’s instructions, and pressed the button to his floor. She needn’t have bothered with her phone, it turned out. His floor was the only button there.

The door opened again ten seconds later. Brienne was expecting to be brought to the hallway, not inside the apartment. Looking around, she stepped on the floor carpeted so thickly her booted steps were barely a hush. 

“Brienne?” Jaime called out from somewhere in the apartment. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.” 

“In the kitchen.”

Gods, the apartment was the size of a lecture hall. Brienne was relieved there were no chrome and gray walls, finding instead soft creams, rich browns that ranged from earth to chocolate, and careful splashes of burgundy, vermillion, and gold. An interior designer conceptualized the place but it was clear Jaime’s tastes were kept in mind. He was calling to her again so Brienne followed his voice. She found him behind a sleek, black-topped kitchen counter, pouring the contents of a wok pan onto a large bowl. The smell of vegetables and spices reached her nostrils and she breathed it in, appreciatively. 

“There you are,” Jaime said, looking up from the task. He was wearing a white shirt. He smiled and she thought he shouldn’t smile, it was dangerous to her health, what with her heart beginning to pound hard and fast in her chest. “You’re in time.”

“Smells delicious,” She told him, nodding at the bowl of stir-fried vegetables.

“Thank you. Here, let me get your coat.”

Brienne would have told him she could manage it herself fine but Jaime moved from behind the counter, showing her his shirt was still tucked in and his pants belted, that he was still wearing his beloved Oxfords. With the slickness of a cat, he was suddenly at her back. His hands went to her shoulders, a soft, light-as-air touch she felt right on her skin. Flushing, she began loosening the ties on her coat.

And discovered they’d been knotted too tight. 

She didn’t realize how close Jaime was standing behind her until he spoke. “Is something wrong?” His breathing tickled the tiny hairs at the back of her neck.

Reddening, Brienne turned to him, her hands struggling with the belt of her coat. “I'm stuck.” 

Emeralds shone at her in amusement. “Calm down. Let me do it.” 

And she watched him put his hands over hers. It was like being touched my lightning and she almost jumped if not for his elegant, long-fingered hands folding firmly over hers. There was a slight roughness to them and his fingertips felt hard and calloused. Then he was pulling her hands from the mess of her coat belt, replacing them over the knots. She was taller than Jaime but not by a lot. With his head bent so close to hers, she saw that his hair had varying shades of gold, ranging from pale to a rich, almost brown burnish. She did not have to breath deeply to smell him. Aftershave and cologne that was a mix between musk and soap, she discovered as his scent slowly slipped into her nostrils to the back of her throat, giving her a taste. It was a sleek cloud column that descended further to her body, warming her stomach and softening her legs. 

Brienne sighed and Jaime looked up. “Don’t be impatient.”

“I’m not!” 

“What in Seven Hells did you do?” He asked, still trying to pull at the knot. “Did you think somebody will steal this?”

“No. Of course not. I’m not an idiot.” 

“Didn’t say you were. Hold on. I have an idea.” 

To her surprise, Jaime kept one hand around the belt and used it to pull her behind him as he went around the corner again. Brienne watched him open a drawer and retrieve a pair of large, glinting scissors. Her mouth fell open.

“Jaime, no!”

The scissors were poised over the belt. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Would you like to wear this coat to bed?” 

“Of course not but you’re not going to ruin it. There has to be another way.”

“This is it,” he said, gesturing at the scissors. He sighed. “I’ll buy you a new coat.” 

“You don’t need to and I don’t want you to.”

“I am. I’m going to destroy your property,” and he proceeded to cut the belt, “so I’ll owe you a debt. A Lannister pays his debts, didn’t you know?” 

They were nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest now. As he spoke, he slipped the coat of her shoulders, stepping closer as he did. He glanced at her clothes. She was a wearing a white shirt similar to his, tucked into her skinny jeans. He raised his eyes backto her face. Brienne saw herself reflected in his round pupils as he pulled the rest of the coat from her body. 

He set the coat on the counter, not moving nor stepping back. As Brienne looked into his eyes, she felt the world tilting again, that tell-tale shift. 

Jaime surprised her with his hand on her cheek. The world stopped moving.

Her breath picking up, Brienne said, “Jaime?” 

He was brushing his knuckles on her cheek. “Hmm?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He smiled as his finger began to trace the curve of the side of her neck. “Dinner. And I have something to return, if you remember? Your neck is long.”

Brienne couldn’t fight the blush that swept through her. “Like a giraffe’s.” 

“If you say so. A long, graceful giraffe’s neck.” He leaned closer and Brienne stiffened as his breath danced on her throat.

“Jaime?” 

“So soft,” he said. He sounded pleasantly surprised and awed.

He was still touching her, gently, almost light as air if not for the warmth of his fingers that were a drug slowly seeping into her pores. Briene closed her eyes, struggling to form a coherent thought.

“Why are you touching me if I’m just here for dinner and my shoe?”

“Don’t you like me touching you?”

“But why?” Brienne opened her eyes. They were big and round, sapphires glittering, but not with heat, Jaime realized. There was suspicion in her eyes, a fear. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her throat.

“We met last week and I thought that was it. Then I run into you and suddenly I’m here. You’ve never touched me, except for when you—when we held hands and I brought you back to your ward. I need to know why, suddenly, you’re touching me like—like—“

“How am I touching you?” His voice was tight. 

“ _I don’t know!_ But I can tell you no one touches me like that.” 

“ _Ever?_ ” When she didn’t answer, he continued, breathing hard, “Are you telling me that no one’s touched you and revelled in how soft your skin is behind your ear, that you have five freckles on the left side of your neck. Has no one really touched you and felt your temperature rise as you blushed? Is that what you’re telling me, Brienne? You’ve never been touched with tenderness?” 

“Look at me and tell me if I’m such a woman,” Brienne challenged him, tilting her chin toward him. Her eyes flashed, sapphires and stars. 

_“If you only knew,”_ Jaime said with gritted teeth. “If you only knew how many nights I’ve dreamed of your legs, of swimming in your eyes. You were a haze when I first saw you but since that day at the hospital. . .” He shook his head. “You’ve haunted me, Brienne. _Your damned eyes have followed me everywhere_ since and the way you look at me, the way you _always_ look at me, yes, even now, makes me afraid.”

“Why? How do you think I look at you? Why would you be afraid? I’m sorry—“ 

“I’m afraid you see someone I’m not. But when I dream and I touch you, I feel that maybe, just maybe, I am. Or I could be. I’ve never, never, touched a woman as I have you. I’ve never looked at a woman like you.” 

Brienne shoulders sank and Jaime rushed on, his voice harsh. “I have never in my entire life thought that only _I_ could see the strength in you, this great light in you that draws me _in_ and _in_ and though I also see how the world sees you, I see more. _A lot more._ I see what they’ll never see and it’s what drives me to be tender, to touch you. I can’t think of being nothing else but being tender toward you and be the man you see. _You make me want to be a better man, Brienne_. I invited you here without any agenda. I swear to you. All I wanted was dinner with a friend and return your shoe. But you came to me with those eyes and that was it. That was it for me.” 

“What do you mean that was it for you? What are you talking about?” Brienne was suddenly terrified of his answer. Her hands had balled into fists, her nails digging in her palms. _Whatever he says will be no greater pain than I’m used to_.

Jaime looked at her. She saw the shadows under his eyes, his scars from his dreams of her, the tremor in his lips. His broad shoulders slumped and she wanted to go to him, prop him up, tell him no, he was strong enough. _Stronger._

His voice choked. “That I’m yours. I’m yours and you only have to reach for me. I’m yours if you’ll have me.” 

Brienne could only let out a long, slow breath. _I’m yours,_ his words hammered in her brain. _I’m yours._

Jaime, his eyes hard and cold as icebergs, straightened up his shoulders. He was unsmiling. “Come, Brienne, can you only look at me? Curse me or kiss me, anything. Don’t just stand there and stare at me. Those eyes,” he shook his head, “they have ended me.”

Brienne gasped. “I should leave.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“ _What would you have me do after saying something like that to me?_ ” 

“I believe I gave you choices. Leaving isn’t one of them.” 

No. Leaving wasn’t one of them. Her mind yelled that she should, damn it, but her body, oh, her body, was moving toward Jaime, like a moth drawn to the flame. She raised her hand toward him and he grabbed it, yanking her to his chest. Jaime and Brienne winced as their muscles and bones slammed against each other, bound to leave them with bruises tomorrow. He held her fast, his eyes sharp as they looked right into her soft, sapphire gaze. 

“What do you choose, Brienne?” He demanded, shaking her in his arms. 

Brienne raised a hand to his cheek and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves.  
> SMUT IS COMIIIING!  
> Brienne's last email to Jon comes from Gwendonline Christie's mysterious text message to Finn Jones. He has a lot of funny photos with her in his Twitter.


	15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the smut.

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing. 

Her kiss was light, too tentative, too soft that it was like the Maiden touching his lips except Jaime was well aware of the woman in his arms. Warm. An breathtaking mix of yielding, soft skin and solid, firm muscles. His anchor. 

“Brienne,” he groaned, tipping his chin up, pleading with her with the movement to deepen the kiss.  
Her lips were dry and a little coarse but they were warm and soft, tasting faintly of toothpaste. Jaime smiled to himself, thinking that the woman in his arms was so proper she brushed her teeth before dinner. His mirth slammed to an end when her hands fell from his face to run down his chest. It was still not enough. Jaime wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her to his chest, feeling her heart beating frantically against his. 

He was a patient man. Every cell in his body was screaming for her skin, her tongue, but he willed himself to move his lips against hers as gently as she was massaging his mouth with her own, settled for randomly touching the wide span of her back, down the back of her waist, the curve of her hip. Their close heights didn’t make it so difficult and boy, did Jaime touch her, first through the blasted fabric of her shirt before he slid his hands under it and finally encountered very soft, supple skin.  
Brienne, her head bent slightly to Jaime, tried to match him kiss for kiss, bumping his nose as she tried to find an angle that gave them the depth they wanted. Jaime had her pressed against the counter, how he did that, she couldn’t remember, but it was cool and hard against her back, now that he’d lifted her shirt out of the way and was now touching her trim stomach. She snaked her hand under the collar of his shirt, pulled him closer and Jaime must have liked it because he groaned again and this time licked the corner of her lips. 

“Give me more, Brienne,” he whispered, against her mouth in between kisses, “I can take it. Don’t be afraid.”

“Tell me how,” she asked him, frustrated at what she could only touch until she thought it only right to start touching him under his shirt too. When she did, she discovered golden skin. Warm, golden skin, lean muscles. 

Jaime pressed her deeper against the counter and her head fell back, her legs falling open. Her quick, shallow breaths filled the kitchen as he nibbled on her long throat. He was pressed hard against her now, his swollen cock notching against her cunt despite their pants. 

“Kiss me. Really kiss me,” he told her, lust in his eyes. “Come at me, Brienne. Fight me with your kisses.”

He had barely finished saying the words when she did as he asked, throwing her arms around his shoulders and abandoning herself to clumsy yet very enthusiastic kisses that sent Jaime’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He retaliated with harder kisses, combining his attack with hands gripping her hips, squeezing her firm ass, his own hips pressing against her in promise of how he would love her tonight if she’d let him. He tore his mouth away from her and went on to assault her throat, aiming for her elegant collarbones and more moonlight skin overwhelmed with freckles. 

Raspberries, he thought. Her freckles reminded him of raspberries on cream. He chuckled against her ear and she urged him away from her slightly.

“What’s so funny?” 

Jaime thought she looked particularly lovely right now. Red-faced, her pupils black and slowly taking over the blue of her eyes, her lips looking crushed and swollen. She should always look like she was thoroughly kissed or fucked.

“I told you I haven’t had dessert yet,” he said, flicking off the button of her shirt and another. 

“Um, yes. . .” She echoed, not following him. Not when she was watching him loosen the buttons of her shirt frm their holes.

When the shirt was open enough to reveal her plain, little black bra, Jaime cupped her breasts and whispered hotly in her ear, “You look like one. Like a creamy, raspberry treat.”

Her cheek, already warm against his face, grew warmer at his admission. Jaime kissed her there pushed her shirt off her shoulders. Brienne blushed even more and crossed her arms over her chest. Still keeping her pressed against the counter, he caged her by locking his hands on the edge of the counter. He kept his burgeoning cock pressed to her cunt. 

“Am I going too fast for you, Brienne? Say the word and I’ll stop. I wouldn’t want to do anything you don’t want. I don’t want you to leave my apartment with regret and hating me.” 

She shook her head “I’ll never hate you.”

His grin was sardonic. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I never break my promise.”

“Never?”

“I mean every promise I make, Jaime.”

“Then promise me you’ll never rob me the pleasure of looking at you. I want to see you. So far, I like what I see. I’m liking it better and better.” 

She looked unsure. “Jaime. . .”

He played with the waistband of her pants. “What is it?”

“I’m. . .I’m not feminine.”

“The fuck you’re not,” he suddenly ground out. Then he grabbed her hands and swept them behind her so she was arched to him and he could look at her. “If you can see what I see now, you won’t be saying that. Where’d you get that idea? Must I remind you you’re a woman? Would you like me to show you? Because you’ll love how I’ll make you feel, Brienne. That’s not a promise. That’s a guarantee.”

And then he was grabbing her and kissing her and it was not tender at all. It was almost cruel, it was a kiss of possession, a branding kiss. Still keeping his mouth on her, he bent and grabbed her by the legs, setting her down the counter. This put her breasts at the level of his mouth. 

Brienne shrank when she saw him take the scissors again. He glared at her, slipped a finger in her bra and snipped. The damaged bit of lingerie fluttered down and his mouth was suddenly there, wrapped tight around a nipple and his cheeks were hollowing as he sucked, hard, painfully. 

“Jaime,” she gasped, her hand clutching at his head, the other scratching his back.

Her breasts were small, mounds barely rising from her chest but they fit his palm perfectly. Her nipples made up for what she may lack in cup size, in Jaime’s opinion. They were pink and large. He didn’t release her nipple until it was red and tight before he moved to the other with the intention of doing the same. Her sexy cries filled his ears.

Brienne pleaded with him, saying it was too much, he had to stop, she couldn’t take it, but Jaime ignored her, stripping off her pants and sending his hands to parts of her body paler and softer. In the fuzz that had formed in her mind, she realized that she was naked while Jaime remained fully dressed, with not even a single button loosened on his shirt. 

“Wait, Jaime, this isn’t fair—“ she began to say but he was suddenly removing her from the counter. Then he turned her around, her back to his chest. His hand on the middle of her back urged her to bend towards the counter, thrusting her apple-shaped ass at  
him. 

“Jaime—“

“I’m fucking you, Brienne. I won’t stop even if you tell me to. I want you too much,” he rasped against her ear, seizing her breasts from behind. She gasped, throwing her head back against his shoulder and he chuckled. “Yes. That’s it.”

He started kissing her cheek and the side of her neck, her nape. “Oh,” she whispered when she felt the rough hairs of his chest against her back when she pressed against him. “Jaime.”

She heard the heavy clang of a belt buckle hitting the floor then the rustle of pants pooling next to it. Then Jaime was putting his arm around her waist, his hand arrowing on her cunt. Brienne gasped she felt his cock bob against the cheeks of her ass.

“No!” She exclaimed and he squeezed her breast.

“Not unless you want to. That’s not where I want to go, anyway,” he whispered, his hand descending to her curls. "Not yet."

Brienne blushed anew when the loud squelch of his finger slipping between her cunt lips filled the apartment. She wanted to die.  
“Oh,” Jaime’s voice was deep and seductive against her ear, full of masculine promise. “You are a naughty girl, Brienne. I am most definitely not stopping. So very wet,” he groaned, rubbing her. She gasped when a long, rough finger started to enter her and she closed her legs in reflex. “Let me in, honey. I need you more ready than you are because my cock intends to live in your cunt until morning. Ah. That’s it. You’re so tight. Are you a virgin? You must be.”

“No, of course not,” Brienne wailed as another finger joined the one he’d first sent on a quest deep inside her.

“Of course not. Even if you are, I don’t intend to leave your cunt soon. It’s a greedy little cunt, I can already tell from the way it won’t let go my fingers. Not a bad place to get stuck, if you ask me.” As he fucked her with his fingers, he cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples. She threw her head back against his shoulder and cried out. 

“Jaime,” Brienne moaned as his fingers pumped in and out quickly. “Stop talking.”

“No. You’re going to hear what I will do to you, Brienne.”

“But it’s embarrassing!”

“Not as embarrassing as your lover discovering you have a teddy bear on your panties.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Oh fuck indeed. Yes, Brienne. I am fucking you,” Jaime said then suddenly pushed her hard between the shoulder blades. “Now.”

In her position, his cock felt massive and thick, demanding every inch into her cunt. Brienne braced herself on her elbows as Jaime lunged at her in savage thrusts that sent her ribs banging repeatedly on the granite edge. A sound between a moan and a cry was pulled from her throat as she began to dig her nails on the too-smooth surface, wanting traction, not wanting to be swept away by the incoming tide. Jaime’s fingers continued to strum her, spreading her folds while the fingers of his other hand played with her clit and coaxed the sweetest, sexiest moans from her. 

Jaime licked the sweat sliding down her back. Salt and woman. He removed his hand from her hand and the smell of her arousal hit the air. He used this hand to urge her to turn toward him so he could push his tongue in her mouth and taste her. And she let him, her mouth falling slack from his violent kisses, yielding as his tongue swooped in.

And then Brienne was kissing him with more boldness he could ever imagine. Jaime growled deep in his throat as he pumped faster against her. He was close and so was she but he feared it would be over him before her. Still gripping her head, his other hand found the swollen, slick bud of her clit and pinched it, hard.

Brienne tore her mouth away from him with a shocked cry, startled her body could do this, to be shaking so hard and squeezing the cock inside her as if to drain it. Jaime kept his hand on her clit, rotating it hard circles until she suddenly stiffened, her back curving impossibly. He gasped and closed his eyes, thrusting into her one more time, then two and then---

“Fuck, Brienne,” he gasped, holding her tight as his cock shot semen in her. She whimpered, feeling the sudden blast of warmth flooding her cunt. Her hips were still moving against him, but just barely. 

Brienne took deep gulps of air as she slumped with her head stacked on her forearms on the counter. Jaime sighed and rested his face at her shoulder, his beard a rasp on her soft skin. He kissed and licked her shoulder and she looked at him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, as if she were on the verge of sleep. He grinned and kissed her on the lips.

“I’ll let you rest and then I’ll have you again.”

“Again?” Brienne was aghast. “I think I’m done for the night.”

“Again,” Jaime said firmly, a smile on his face, his eyes like molten emeralds. “I did tell you where my cock will be until morning, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy, Jaime, weren't you going to feed her dinner first?


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing.

Sunlight entered the room in stages. First, it fell on the chest of drawers next to the window, where standing on it were two photos enclosed in their frames, one of three blond children laughing and the other of a classically beautiful blond woman with dark green eyes and a soft smile on her face as she held a little blond boy in her slender arms. The light moved next to a pizza box, trampled on one side, two goblets nearly empty of its contents, wine that glowed as red as blood. It fell next on a nightstand, where it held a lamp, wallet and a watch, and a silver-buckled black shoe. 

Finally, the sun fell on the figures entwined on the bed. Both of them blond, with similar builds. They were almost twins but the man’s hair was long and fanned like a lion’s mane on the pillow, soft-looking golden waves, while the woman’s hair was more pale and looked like a rumpled mass of indiscernible shape. 

They slept facing each other, their breaths one. The woman had the lion’s share of the blankets but it was tangled at her waist. It looked like her companion had attempted to steal the blankets during sleep but succeeded only in covering his chest and waist. The ends of the curls of hair on from his thigh down to his legs glinted gold. 

The woman sighed, shifting to turn on her side, giving her back to him. Though still fast asleep, he frowned, feeling her move away from him. He threw an arm around her waist and put his heavy leg over her hip. Discovering cloth, he opened his eyes, looking annoyed, and yanked the blankets to her feet. Pale skin scattered with freckles and long, toned limbs greeted him. He put his leg over her again and pushed his hand between her legs. 

Smiling, Jaime licked her behind the ear, his cock hardening at the scent of cotton and sleep there, while he sent his fingers to work. She was still sticky with his semen. They had fucked well into the night. She was a sweet taste on his tongue, still. His cock was a little sore and felt chafed but it was rearing toward her, eager to return in the tight wamth of her cunt.

“Jaime,” Brienne moaned, thrusting her hips against his erection. Her voice was thick; she probably thought she was in a dream.

“I want you,” he whispered, pulling her leg over his hip and opening her. He gasped as he entered her cunt in one stroke. She was that slick.

Gone was the madness of the night before although it did not make their joining any less fervent. But they danced against each other softly, gently, listening to each other’s quickening breaths, feeling the warmth of each other’s skin. When Brienne came with a soft, high-pitched squeak, Jaime was quick to follow her, his breathing harsh against her ear and neck as he peppered it with more kisses. He cupped her breast possessively, plucking at her tight nipple. "Jaime." 

Brienne slowly opened her eyes. She turned to him. Jaime opened his eyes too. Emerald bored into sapphire.

“Aren’t you glad I got rid of your coat,” was the first thing he said. His grin was so cocky she wanted to hit him.

She frowned.“You got rid of my bra too, that way.”

“It got in the way.”

“Jaime Lannister fighting some bit of silk? What a victory, ser. I’m most impressed.”

“You should be. Else your tits wouldn’t know what I could do to them.”

Though she was blushing, she admitted, “I don’t. . .I mean, I don’t normally wear a bra. Not that often.”

He played with a swollen nipple. She hissed, melting against him. His smile was lazy and stamped with masculine arrogance. “Today it will be never.”

Her smile, though crooked, was warm and true. Jaime watched her turn her head and look at the time on the nightstand on her side of the bed. On her neck were small, purplish spots. He had bitten and sucked at the soft skin there. “I should go soon,” she told him, looking back at him.

“At least allow me to prepare you some coffee first and maybe give you a Pop Tart,” Jaime said, sitting up. He groaned, rubbing his back. “Seven hells, woman, you’ll be the death of me.”

“I told you to let me be on top every now and then,” Brienne cheeks warmed. She sat up, also feeling stiff all over. But it was a good kind of pain. Similar to a hard workout but not quite. A whole lot better, if you will. She carefully moved her neck, turning right then left. Her jaw was sore. Her face warmed even more remembering why. Gods, she could still taste him, he lingered at the back of her throat.

“I like having your legs around me too much. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What makes you sure I want a repeat of last night?”

His grin was cocky. “You told me.”

Brienne reddened. “Fuck you.”

“You will. But wait until tomorrow. What are your plans tonight?”

Brienne took the blankets and stood up, leaving Jaime nude and proud. He stood up and enjoyed her eyes widening and the blush on her cheeks getting more vivid as she checked out his even, golden skin, the lean bulges of muscles on his arms, his flat, well-defined, six-pack abs and his cock, which was pointing straight at her. 

“Huh?”

Jaime's smile was happy and proud. It was something else to be checked out by someone who wasn't schooled in the art of cool and subtle seduction. It was most refreshing. “My face is up here, Brienne.”

“I know that,” she said, scowling at him. “Um, what were you saying?”

“I was asking if you have plans tonight.”

“I was thinking of doing my laundry.”

He was shocked. “On a Friday night?”

“Nobody does the laundry so I get to choose the machine and take my time. Nor do I have to worry about anyone sneaking in a load in my wash.”

“What a plan. I’m almost hesitant to share mine.”

Brienne was still clutching the blanket. “Um, I forget my clothes didn’t make it to the bedroom. Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“You’re leaving my place wearing only a t-shirt?”

“I believe my pants are waiting in your kitchen.”

“They are. They’re crumpled and they smell like you and me. We ended up fucking on some pair of pants. You were on your hands and knees, if you recall.” Jaime grinned as she glared at him. Boy, did he remember. What a thrill to discover that proper Brienne was a screamer. Not to mention that when he was inside her, she said the filthiest things. 

He nodded at the door behind her. “That’s my closet. Help yourself to what you might need.”

He was tempted to go in there and join her, he needed clothes himself. But he’d already pushed and teased her enough, for this morning anyway. So he reached for a used t-shirt and shorts he’d left on a chair sometime this week. 

Brienne entered the closet. Everything was neatly arranged by color and sleeve length. It took her a few moments to figure out that his t-shirts were probably secreted in one of the drawers, and she was right. She pulled on an old, round-necked sky-blue t-shirt with a logo of a sky-blue falcon against a round, white background. Below it were the partially-peeled words Vale Prep and in smaller font, “As High As Honor.”

She pulled it on. It was a little tight in the shoulders but fit her chest just fine. She hunted the drawers again until she found a pair of gray track pants. A moment of uncertainty had her frowning. Her underwear was somewhere. But could she really go out commando? Blushing, she wrenched Jaime's pants on. Wearing his boxers was too much right now. 

Jaime was not in the bedroom anymore when she returned there. She found his comb and ran it through her hair, sighing when once again the short locks refused to cooperate and stay down. She found the bathroom and washed her face. The cool water did little in easing the redness that still remained on her warm cheeks, and it was clear from her eyes she didn’t get much sleep last night. Her mouth looked pinker and more swollen than usual, almost too big for her face. 

When she arrived in the kitchen, it was thick with the aroma of coffee, eggs and bacon. She smiled at Jaime’s back. “I thought I was getting a Pop Tart. You lied to me, Lannister.”

Jaime, who was putting eggs and bacon on two plates looked at her and grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get one. Wow. You do look ravishing in my old high school t-shirt, Brienne.”

“Why am I not surprised to find out you went to a prep school?”

“Judging me again?” But his tone was light.

“Of course not. I’ve simply never heard of any Lannisters attending public schools. Can I help?”

“You can pour the coffee.” 

They assembled plates, glasses and cups on the kitchen counter. They pulled out stools and sat beside each other. Jaime took Brienne’s hand and kissed it, surprising her.

“What’s that for?”

“For pouring coffee.”

She grinned so she kissed him on the cheek.

“And that’s for?”

“The promise of a Pop Tart,” she said, making Jaime laugh. 

They ate, talking and laughing quietly. It was an intimacy new to both, Jaime who had more than enough one night stands he cared to remember and Brienne, whose experience was limited, had never enjoyed sex until last night and so had never slept with anyone throughout the night. She couldn’t stop the shiver coursing through her when Jaime tugged at the collar of her t-shirt and placed a sucking kiss between her neck and shoulder. Then, his eyes gleaming, he pulled her to sit on his lap. 

Their kiss was slow and long. She turned so she was straddling him. He groaned while she gasped when she started rubbing against his erection under his shorts. Growling in frustration, Brienne suddenly leaped to her feet and yanked off the pants. Jaime grinned, both surprised and pleased to discover her cunt bare. He kicked off his shorts and pulled her back on his lap. 

“Were you able to tell me your plans tonight?” she asked him, trying to remember. It was a little while later. They were on the couch now, their sweaty bodies sated for the moment. She had her head on his chest and their long legs dangled from the end of the couch. Class was in an hour but she didn't trust herself to stand let alone walk. If she was able to walk, it would surely be with a limp. He was pressed against her thigh but she could still feel him inside.

Jaime sighed loudly and she looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’d get out of it if I could. I have a dinner at Casterly Rock.”

“Casterly Rock. . .”

“Is the name of the manor I grew up in.”

“You grew up in a manor," Brienne repeated.

“Yes. And starting tonight, my father, the old lion, Tywin, expects to see his children for weekly dinners.”  
“Oh. Well, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

Jaime chuckled but it sounded hollow. “If it isn’t with Tywin Lannister, yes, it’s not.”

“What could be so bad about dinner in what I think is a huge, nice place where, I don’t know, you probably pretended to be a prince or a knight, or a king, with a father who wants to see more of his children. I don’t see much of my father but that’s because he’s in Tarth.”

Suddenly, Jaime had an idea. Brienne felt herself beginning to shrink away at the light in his eyes. It was too bright, he was too gleeful—it was the same look he got just before he put his mouth between her legs. As if sensing her retreat, Jaime put a hand on her cheek.

“Come with me. To Casterly Rock.”

Brienne laughed. “For a second I thought you’re asking me to go to dinner with you to Casterly Rock.”

“What so wrong about dinner with me?”

“How late will it be before you feed me? I had to beg you to feed me last night.”

“I didn’t know right away you needed actual food. I thought you were begging for more loving.” He said, and the grin was back. “More of my cock.”

“Jaime!”

“Alright. I’ll be serious now. None of Lannister children enjoy spending time with our father. I did fantasize about being a knight growing up in Casterly Rock but that didn’t last long. Not when you have a father like Tywin. I’m asking you to come with me to dinner because it won’t be so terrible if you’re with me, and the food would be top-notch, I promise. It won't be served late, you definitely will not have to beg for it. Not to mention that after living between your legs, I have to bring you home to family.”

“Jaime, I’m not sure. I mean, you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Also because I need you to rescue me from what I can guarantee will be a horrible time.”

“I can’t meet your family. So what if we slept together—“

His grin fell. “Brienne. Be honest with me, promise? Last night meant a lot to me. Did it not mean as much to you?”

“Of course it means a lot to me, Jaime, but you don’t bring home a girl to your family just because you’re fucking her.”

“Well, I’m going to keep fucking you, Brienne Tarth. Now that I've a taste of your cunt, I know I can't be without it. It's so tight and gets so very wet. My cock belongs right there." He chuckled as she buried her face in his neck. Rubbing soft circles on her back, he pressed random kisses around her forehead and temple as he spoke. "At some point, I will also fall in love with you, need you more than the air I breathe. Then I’ll tell you I love you and we’ll fuck more, maybe do things we’ve never done with anyone before. Then I’ll ask you to marry me. We’re still fucking very regularly at this point. After all, you can't go without my cock even for just a short while. So you see, Brienne, being that we will be fucking a lot and those things I told you will happen, I don’t see the point of putting off introducing you to my family. You might as well know how insane Lannisters are. Cersei, my twin sister, wouldn’t like you right away, but she’s like that. She didn’t like her family right away when she was born. You’ll love Tyrion, my older brother. He’s funny, he’s the smartest among us, and he’s the only one who can go head-to-head with Tywin. Tywin, I’m already telling you, not the best person you’ll know. But he’s my father and you might as well know now how he is rather than later. You’ll love me no matter how fucked up I am because of him.”

Brienne was now looking at him, frowning. “Tyrion Lannister is your brother? Dr Tyrion Lannister, the university president? And Cersei. . .Cersei was the doctor who checked me when I got hit by a football. They’re your brother and sister?”

Jaime sighed. “Out of all the things I told you, that’s what you take away? Maybe I should fuck you again to remind you how you should react to what I said.” He started to urge her on her back when she shook her head. 

"Well," Brienne said, her tone coy despite her red face. She began to slide down his body. Her eyes were shining sapphire pools."I don't need reminding. But can't I--can I fuck you this time, Jaime?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you remember, Jaime did tell Tyrion he'll get a girl off the street. And where did he see Brienne again and invite her to dinner in his apartment? Right. 
> 
> See, he's no oathbreaker!


	17. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things that happen in the near future

All characters by George RR Martin.  
I own nothing and know nothing.

 

Two weeks after they first slept together, Jaime told Brienne he loved her. She said to him, breathlessly, that admissions of feelings during sex didn’t count and told him to try again. The next morning, while Jaime was brushing his teeth, Brienne stuck her head in and told him she loved him. She tried stopping him but Jaime still managed to grab her and kiss her, flooding her mouth with toothpaste foam that sent her coughing her lungs out. As he slapped her too hard between the shoulders, Jaime told her solemnly he loved her. Once Brienne was alright, Jaime pulled her back to the bedroom. The door remained shut the rest of the day. 

Renly Baratheon left the program and soon took over Baratheon Vineyards. Under his leadership, the company leaped from the number seven spot of having the best vintages and spirits to number two. His father died six months after he took over. Jon, Jaime, Brienne, Stannis, Robert and Cersei flew to Dragonstone for the funeral. The Baratheon brothers, who always had trouble getting along, stood as one that day. 

Two days later, Robert asked Cersei to marry him. She cried and told him yes. They plan to marry at the Baratheon Vineyards next year.

After his thesis defense, Jon Snow packed up his things and took a teaching position offered by Winterfell University, in the far north. He skipped the graduation ceremony but he made sure to gift Brienne a small nude painting of himself, named `If You’re Ever Lonely.’ Jaime, who had become good friends with Jon, left him a voice mail saying it was a miracle Jon wasn’t lonely since he only had “a little bit.” He then forwarded a photo of the painting to Renly, who had to use a magnifying glass to see it. His laughter resounded all over the Baratheon estate. 

The Valyrian campaign by LSM Creatives garnered them the top advertising awards of the year. Addam and Bronn are still hard at work at pirating accounts from other agencies while Jaime, since meeting Brienne, has become a deep well of creative, witty ideas. On the night of the awarding ceremony for LSM Creatives, Jaime asked Brienne to move in with him. Bronn’s wife, Lollys, seven months pregnant, was rushed to the hospital where she gave birth to a small but healthy baby girl. Excitement over her husband’s success had caused the early birth. Bronn fainted and regained consciousness just in time to cut the umbilical cord. Addam cried on Jaime’s shoulder. This time Jaime billed the company for ruining a second suit. 

Stannis signed under Light Management, an agency that represented only the top photographers in the field. It is here that he would meet his wife, Selyse. LSM Creatives would also make use of another photographer in this agency, Oberyn Martell. 

It took Jaime and Brienne a month to find an apartment they liked. She didn't like the one at Empire Building and he didn't want to live in that fortress anymore. When they moved in to their new place, he insisted on carrying her across the threshold. He didn't notice his loosened shoelace and tripped, dropping her hard. Brienne got a giant bruise on her hip and elbow. Jaime started kissing them to make them better then thought, why not make all of her feel good? Soon, she was laughing and calling him an idiot in between kisses. 

They christened the floor behind the kitchen counter.

For starters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I enjoyed writing this for you. Until the next! 
> 
> P.S. Jon and Renly will be back  
> More Tywin, Selwyn, Sansa and yes, Loras will be back
> 
> As of September 25, I deleted some parts in this chapter. I didn't write the series in order so there were details here that wouldn't work given the timeline of events. Hope you're not too disappointed!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! This time, I'm flexing my fingers and imagination for a multi-chapter story in the series. Don't worry. It won't be that long. After this story, I'll pick up where I left off in While the Cubs Are Away.
> 
> This is the latest installment of The Lannisters Are Coming and like all the stories, can also be read by itself. Enjoy! Drop me your comments. They're diamonds. 
> 
> By the way, my works are unbeta'd. Sorry for that.
> 
> Additional:  
> Jaime co-owns an advertising agency with Bronn and Addam.  
> Brienne is good friends with Jon Snow and Renly Baratheon.  
> Renly is still gay. Because hot, intelligent men often are.  
> Jon Snow is quite the ladies' man and all-around fun guy. He's just so grim in the canon and I thought it my duty as a writer of fanfiction to get that stick out of his ass.  
> Brienne, Renly and Jon are graduate students studying literature.  
> Watch out for my version of the bear pit scene. Putting it out there right now that no bears will be harmed in the writing of it.


End file.
